Schadenfreude
by MissNightshade144
Summary: Schadenfreude, a pleasure derived from the misfortune of others, AKA a feeling one Quinn Fabray found herself getting to know painfully well. Teen pregnancy. Bullying. Homelessness. Hidden feelings she's not supposed to have for Rachel Berry, the bottom of the McKinley food chain. Quinn can't stop wondering when the world will stop enjoying her pain. Faberry with a side of Brittana
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all you fellow fantastic Faberry fans! (I'm loving the alliteration there) this is my first Faberry fic, despite the fact that I've been reading (and shipping) the pairing since before I actually started watching Glee. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this, and fair warning, it's going to get a little angsty. I also may tweak the canon a bit to suit my purposes in the future.**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, I'm just borrowing the characters, dragging them from hell and back, then returning them, slightly damaged, but still in working order!**

**Schadenfreude**

**Chapter One**

The imperceptible flurry of whispers before the silence fell. The astonished gazes that lit upon my face and shoulder like a flock of uplifting birds. The smallest steps backward as the crowd began to part like a Red Sea of adulation. Each little motion which I had become so used to, yet so aware of, sent a warm rush through my veins, and caused a tingle of contentment to climb the curved staircase of my spine in slow anticipation. Like every addict with their fix, I just adored the popularity. Something about it just felt so right, like each hit reinforced the fact that I, Quinn Fabray, was destined to be on top. Of course, like every addict and their fix, each high had its accompanying crash, which for me came in the form of the hulking bull of a football player, whose muscled shoulders rose like mountains as he thundered down the hallways.

"Whore!" an angry, low voice bellowed, the jagged, frayed edge of lightning where my delusion was torn in half. Suddenly, with a crude impact, the silence and the distance made sense. And the realization hit me with the same vicious, humiliating, icy blow as the garish purple slushy that was suddenly invading my senses, stinging at my eyes, seeping through my blonde locks and matting them to my forehead, and filling my nose with its sickly saccharine stench. I looked down, and suddenly in this shock-induced sober moment, I realized I was no longer wearing my shining red-white-and black Cheerios uniform, my status symbol and my suit of armor, and instead was wearing a limp, flimsy baby-doll dress which draped over my slight baby bump. I wasn't on top anymore. I wasn't even considered a Glee loser, no even that was above me. I was the going-nowhere Lima girl. I was the girl who couldn't keep her legs together. I was the mixed-up teenager. I was the washed-up cheerleader. Insults rained down upon my shoulders, their frosty bite hitting me deeper than any number of slushies. I'm nothing now. Quinn Fabray is something, and if I'm nothing, than who am I? I brushed the question from my mind as I tried to swallow down my tears, which despite all my efforts were trailing melted purple corn syrup down my cheeks. I realized that I was standing in the hallway, with students gathered around me in a circle like spectators in the ancient Colosseum, watching the lone gladiator being torn apart by the lions. Their scathing stares and mocking whispers burned at my limbs now, an uncomfortable antithesis to the freezing cloak of slushy I wore, and I bolted from their presence like the possessed. So wrapped up in my pity party of one, I only caught a glimpse of familiar brown doe eyes which burned holes into my heart. Great, people were feeling sorry for me now, I can't tell whether this is better or just more of an insult. I rushed to the nearest bathroom, my skirt sweeping around me as the door slammed shut, the loud bang resounding through the small, antiseptic room and shaking loose even more tears. I just shut my eyes as I braced myself against the sink, wanting-no, needing-something solid with which I could anchor my entire world to, and stop everything I knew from flying out of my grasp and getting lost in the blackness. I barely noticed the fact that I was shaking, trying with every cell in my body to deny the onslaught of everything that is true.

"This isn't happening to me!" I hoarsely protested, unable to keep the words bottled up inside any longer. "I am Quinn Fabray, I'm not the girl who gets pregnant and gets kicked out by her parents, and gets dropped by her boyfriend-slash-fake baby daddy, and ends up sleeping in her car because she has nowhere to live!" I tangibly winced at that last bit; I suppose I really haven't gotten used to that part. Ever since Finn ungraciously-yet-understandably-kicked me out of his house, I hadn't quite found a new place to live, so my little Honda was my current place of residence.

"You're living in your car?" a soft voice asked tentatively, and I felt an angry red blush bloom upon my cheeks as I recognized who it belonged to. I didn't even have to look up to envision the softness and kindness in those familiar brown eyes, the same brown eyes which had pinned me with their gaze in the hallway, the brown eyes belonging to one Rachel Berry. The fluttering warmth that started in my chest was only rivalled by the shudder of revulsion that wracked my petite frame. I shouldn't feel this way, not towards any girl, let alone the Hobbit…

"None of your business Berry." I spat at her, more out of habit than out of real hatred. I scowled at her, suddenly becoming aware that the slushy was uncomfortably drying to my face. Rachel was apparently immune to my venom at this point, as she simply gave me a frustrated 'tsk-tsk' sound before snatching a paper towel from the nearest dispenser.

"Quinn, once this stuff dries it's near impossible to get out, trust me, I'd know, and your clothes are already ruined! You don't need to be brusque with me, I was simply expressing my worry for you as a fellow Glee clubber. You've been off your game recently, and although you don't have nearly as much talent as I, you're still an instrumental part of the group. Plus you've just been acting weird, and I doubt that it can be passed off as pregnancy hormones-" She rambled in that adorable, quintessential _Rachel_ manner. Something about her flustered appearance and the rosy blush appearing upon the tanned apples of her cheeks was even more endearing to me. Which in turn, evoked an even more negative reaction from me.

"Berry, I am in awe at your blatant audacity. I don't need your arrogance, I don't need your pity, I don't need your worry, I don't need your help, and I most certainly don't need you!" I watched the hurt materialize upon the smaller girl's face, and she dipped her head silently in a show of acquiescence and submission quite unlike her. Quietly, she turned around, the ghost of her warm gaze flitting over my shoulders before leaving the room. Her departure had been so abrupt that I hardly had the time to let the guilt from my actions truly sink in. Again, I was alone, and again, I was crying, barely able to see what I was doing as I wiped slushy off of my face. My makeup was running, my hair was a mess, and, true to what Rachel said, my clothes were ruined. Finally, my outsides looked like how I felt on the inside. I was just as big a wreck, except at least now I didn't look like a contradiction. Looking into the mirror, I saw myself exactly as I did in middle school, ugly and unwanted. The door to the bathroom squealed and I nearly jumped out of my skin from shock, rushing to make myself look presentable in case someone came in. But all that passed the threshold was a piece of folded fabric I couldn't make out through the haze of my tears. A frayed fiber of curiosity caused me to inspect whatever thing had been left on the ground. Through my blurry eyes, which still stung from whatever was in that slushy, I saw a bright pink sticky note on top of a navy-and-white-polka-dot dress which wasn't completely hideous, considering the fact that it came from God-knows-where.

_-Quinn_

_I keep a change of clothing in my locker just in case of slushy attacks, and I hope that this won't be too offensive for you to wear, as it's obvious that you and I have vastly different tastes in fashion. Keep your head up, the only way they win, is when they make you feel so low that you lose yourself. You are much too special to be lost._

_-Rachel_

At this point, I didn't even feel that unusual giddiness whenever Rachel defied everything horrid I did to her, and treated me kindly, no now I just felt empty. When I was in Cheerios, Rachel Berry was about as low on the McKinley food chain as possible, and suddenly I was at par with her. Now, I was getting sympathy from her, I was that low. If this was the wilderness, I would have been devoured. Heck, this was the wilderness, and I was just clinging to the jagged edge of popularity, about to disappear completely. How much had I lost? I made one stupid, drunken mistake, and now I was responsible for a little human, and I'm ostracized because of it. Frankly, at this point I was just wishing that my head would shut up. There are just so many thoughts running around in there that I swear they've fused into one solid force that everyone around me can see clear as day. With a weariness which has become old hat to me, I forced it all away as I began the robotic task of making myself presentable. I snuck into the Cheerios locker room, avoiding all of the areas I know Sue bugged. I learned about the cameras and the little listening devices early on, their presence explained why she was able to appear inexorably fast if a Cheerio even breathed a word of skipping a practice, or worse, eating a cookie, or a slice of white bread, or anything that wasn't pre-digested and therefore breaking Sue's insane diet. If she caught me in here after I was kicked off the squad, to clean the remnants of slushy out of my hair nonetheless, she would kill me. Heck, she'd kill me, and then she'd make the remaining Cheerios drag my corpse across the field in some sort of sick, twisted punishment that only Coach Sylvester would make sense of. But I clung to the hope that the tracksuit-wearing Wicked Witch was off getting her monthly placenta-face mask or some other disgusting thing robots $like her take pleasure in. Hopefully she'd be too busy to watch the cameras. I was safe, for now. There was something about the familiarity of the room, the lingering smell of starved human bodies pushed to their breaking point, the ghosts of cheers and chants, echoing against the school regalia-enrobed walls, the sleek red lockers that Sue forces the rookies to scrub with their toothbrushes until their fingers turn blue, which soothed me. It was like the room provided just as much as protection as my Cheerios uniform. It soothed my racing mind, it made me feel less vulnerable, and I cherished that small solitude as I locked the doors, stripped off my dirty clothes and ducked beneath a shower. All the weight in that moment slid off my shoulders as the droplets of scalding water rolled down my forehead, clinging to my neck, over my collarbone, through the valley of my breasts, before finally hitting my barely-there baby bump, and just like that, the reverie was shattered. Reality, that one inescapable fact that just kept smacking me in the face. Groaning slightly at the small disappointment, I slammed the water off and grabbed a balled-up towel to shove over my body and dry off. After all, I had a class to get to next. I stared at myself in front of the wall of mirrors, put there to remind the Cheerios of their "abundance of shortcomings" wearing Rachel's dress with my hair in loose, damp ringlets. I didn't look like myself, and I had reasonable doubt that I wasn't myself.

"_QUINN FABRAY! MY OFFICE! IMMEDIATELY!" _Sue's grating voice shrieked through the speakers like some sort of spectre begging to be free of its chains. Another look in the mirror, was I even Quinn Fabray? Perhaps I could just ignore the announcement and wait for the real Quinn Fabray to hustle to Coach's office for a brutal tongue-lashing. I could just remain in my little flesh prison, this mask of beauty and fallacy, and not move an inch. Maybe, if I stayed here long enough, and if I changed drastically enough, Quinn Fabray could do what I longed to do? Simply cease to exist.

**A/N please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N sorry for the delay, I was planning on having this chapter up sooner but well… life got in the way, which shouldn't have happened considering the fact that I've had the next five and a half chapters for this fic written out!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, if I did, Faberry would be canon. No questions asked.**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Two

I hurried through the busy hallways, head hanging low in a show of defeat. Or perhaps so that this time, when I got slushied, I wouldn't see it coming. I felt so unlike me. I was never this unsure. Well I suppose I always have been, but then I came to Lima, and I got pretty, and I got good at hiding my insecurities. I could feel my legs nearly bowing under the weight they carried, and exhaustion, and as I stretched a sharp stabbing pain bit me in the back of the neck, a muscle spasm. Just another negative side effect of sleeping across the back seat of one's car. It was times like these where I felt stupid for lying to Puck about having an aunt to live with. It was the 'Fabray pride', something which I had apparently inherited from my parents. I just felt incapable to accept the charity from him. Perhaps it was indeed my Fabray pride. Perhaps it was the fact that I still didn't want to raise this child with him, and didn't want to risk leading him on. Perhaps I just didn't want to end up living with a guy who had more dirty one-liners than… well, any other teenage boy. Or perhaps I was just hoping that my parents would decide to love me again, and I didn't want to consider any sort of permanent living position because it felt like I was giving up on that hope. Whatever, there was some sort of reason why I turned him down. If I could go back on it, I would, but currently Puck appeared to be using the attentions of just about every loose, slut-like Cheerio as a bandage over my 'rejection'. That didn't make for appealing accommodations at all. Just then, I managed to force the haze of intrusive thoughts away long enough to notice Santana walking up to me through the crowded hallways, parting the crowds and shooting bystanders with a scalding HBIC glare. The glare I used to wield.

"Hey Tubbers, Coach Sylvester's got a bounty out on your head." She informed unhelpfully, falling into step with me as I hung my head at her nickname. We picked on each other, we didn't mean any harm, it was our thing. But recently they seemed to sting a little more than usual, the faintest nip of jagged teeth grabbing at my heartstrings.

"Yeah, I'm well aware of that S." I muttered, continuing to weave through the bombardment of ignorant shoulders that jabbed at my face.

"What did you do anyway? The whole point of being off the squad is that you don't have to deal with her tyranny." She stated dryly, flipping her high ponytail about like a choked-off river, gentle curls which had been pinned and pulled about unnaturally. Something about the whole thing was almost disfiguring, how in school, someone could be such a different person, so different that you couldn't even connect the two personas. It was almost fascinating how such little changes made the biggest differences.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter." I shot back, once again avoiding my gaze as I darted forward like a shiny-sided fish, one insignificant point in a school of thousands. The pregnant belly of a schoolbag shoved me sideways, and I instinctively curled in to protect my own stomach. I caught myself wishing that this hadn't ever happened to me, and I mentally backpedaled. One thing I would make sure of, is that my child would never, not for one second, face the icy dagger of being unloved by a parent. I already knew how cruel that pain was, I couldn't ever inflict that on another.

"Hey Q, are you alright?" Santana let the bitchy mask concealing her face slip, giving me a glimpse of the friend whom I had needed for so long. It was hardly a flash, an infinitesimal relaxing of crimson-red lips, the gentle sloping of harshly preened eyebrows, the softness reflected in glassy brown orbs like the brilliant slash of headlights in the side mirror of a car. Yet it was such a display that it nearly brought me to my knees in relief. It was one of the only times that day, besides my earlier altercation with Rachel, where someone fixed me with a look that wasn't full of acid, or disgust, or even just an empty canvas to reflect back all my own failures.

"No, not really S. I'll talk to you later though, I've gotta go." I whispered, the words barely skimming the growing lump of tears in my throat. She gave me the smallest of nods and a fleeting butterfly-wingbeat of a touch on the forearm, before she was gone. Somehow Santana slipped back into her costume, contorted her copper-penny face into a scowl, and returned to her place on the status quo. Why couldn't I do that? I swore I could feel my heartbeat throbbing in my ears as I laid my palms flat against the cool metal of Coach Sylvester's door, careful not to make a noise or a move to enter. After all, no one entered her office, let alone a student, without an invitation in.

"Stretch Marks, come in." a resigned, grating voice sounded from within. Sue was sitting behind her desk, the size and imposing nature of which could count as a small country, polishing one of her many, many trophies. I swept my gaze over all the golden figures, frozen in the splits, or with pom-poms raised to the air, all these faceless people were frozen in the best moments of their life. Then here I was, encapsulated in the sticky amber of my mistakes, perhaps a future museum specimen which lab coat-wearers would cluster about, poke and prod at the time frozen solid, and speculate as to where my downfall originated.

"Now, are you aware as to why you are here, or will I have to pry it out of you, because I have laps that need running, and I'm not above torturing a pregnant woman." She didn't even look at me, as if laying eyes on me would make her realize that she didn't need to torture me for me to feel pain.

"I apologize, Coach Sylvester, for using the Cheerios locker room to shower." I admitted, actually mustering up enough energy to stare right at her. For such an intimidating woman, she really wasn't much to look at, just a skinny, bony skeletal figure with a hooked nose, birdsnest of blond-ish hair, and an armada of hollow achievements. My words unlocked her from her trance, and she lowered her slim reading glasses before pinning me with her gaze.

"You defiled that locker room! My Cheerios are like champion racehorses, they demand the best treatment, and impeccable housing. No one allows the plucky, fat pony who got herself knocked up to live in a stall next to champion thoroughbreds. Frankly Q, I'm disappointed in you. I used to see you as the spitting image of a younger Sue Sylvester; it was like looking in a mirror and seeing myself. Now that view is obscured with all your bloating and maternity clothes." She paused for a moment, always a stickler for the dramatic.

"But Coach Sylvester please-"

"Listen. If you are caught in that locker room once more, I'm going to have you running suicides until it induces labor. Now get out of my sight, your mere presence is giving me morning sickness." Instead of objecting, or mentioning to her that it was the afternoon, I hung my head like a scolded puppy and left. Without Santana at my side, the hallways were once again a hunting ground for outcasts, like me. By the grace of whichever deity has been taking pleasure in busting my ass recently, I managed to make it to my locker without being noticed, and then to the empty auditorium. I had a few minutes to kill before Glee club, and Mr. Schue always went on about song being a way to express feelings that were bugging us. It may sound totally lame, not that anything could make me any lamer at this point, but it worked. Something about the darkness and the shadows in the auditorium, the stage only dimly lit by a spotlight or two which always seemed to be left on, it all felt so calming. The grey dusty dusk was like that favorite pair of jeans everyone owned, the ones worn so many time that they were softer than the cheek of a rose petal, and more forgiving than an old friend. A few lone dust motes spiraled lazily about in the lone beams of light, sparkling like forgotten diamonds before returning to the pesky dirt everyone thought they were. My shoes barely skimmed the first steps up to the stage before the lyrics bubbled up to my lips, words flying out in a smooth flight like newly-freed birds, a flock of doves taking wing.

_Dark, you can't come soon enough for me,_

_Safe, from one more day of misery._

_Everything I love, get back to me now,_

_Everyone I love, I need you now._

The melody spilled across the auditorium of empty seats, a cruel metaphor for what was really going on. I had so much angst, tied like lead balloons to so many feelings, all dragging me down. And whenever I need to lighten that load upon my chest, whenever I need to talk, I look around and find no one, I look around and find that I'm standing alone.

_Don't forget a million miles for me,_

_Safe and another day can pass by me._

_Everything I love, get back to me now,_

_Everyone I love, I need you now._

I was pleading at this point, as if my mom, or my dad, or Sue, or Finn, or anyone else whom I've apparently wronged or disappointed, would suddenly materialize in the rectangle of light where the stage door lay. If only they could see me now.

_So what, I lied, I lied to me too._

_So what, I lied, I lied to me too._

_Hold, out for the ones you know will love you,_

_Hide, out from the ones you know will love you, you, you._

My throat stung with the force that I was singing, but I didn't care who heard. It was almost as if the words themselves were in denial of their existence, and dug their little talons into my throat as I tried to admit them.

_Right, to the edge and barely there,_

_Slow, to make my move I'm almost there._

_Everything I say, I say to me first,_

_Everyone I do, I do to me first._

I was well aware that I was crying, as heavy, leaden tears pooled in my eyes before falling, traversing my cheeks and clinging to my jaw before staining the neck of the dress. The sticky, saltiness they left in their wake made my skin tingle and burn while my insides felt freezing cold. My skin suddenly began feeling too itchy and tight, too perfect to cover the mess within. Tear tracks became fault lines where Quinn Fabray began to cleave in two.

_So what, I lied, I lied to me too,_

_So what, I lied, I lied to me too._

_Hold out for the ones you know will love you,_

_Hide out from the ones you know will love you, you, you._

The last line of the song came out as a whisper, the lump of lies in my throat had become so large that it was almost impossible to speak. As my feelings rushed out like some tidal wave, a mass exodus of shame, it carried with it all the "I'm okay's" and the "I'm fine's" until they lodged in my heart.

_Dark, you can't come soon enough for me._

"You've always struck me as someone who liked more mainstream pop." A soft voice floated up from the audience, and I noticed a pair of chocolate eyes, gleaming with emotion, standing in the very back.

"There's a lot you don't know about me Berry." I muttered darkly as I tried to hide my tears. Of course, those were about as easily hidden as bloodstained hands; I was caught, guilty, guilty of breaking down. I was kneeling on the stage, hoping that my hair would hide my face well enough, and that Rachel wouldn't bother trying too hard.

"Quinn, are you alright?" she asked. There wasn't any doubt of that, but you could tell that she said it only because she had nothing else to try. I suddenly felt a pair of soft, warm, not-at-all-manly hands on my shoulders, steadying them against sobs I didn't even know were hitting me, and I panicked. I lunged forward in an effort to run away, but Rachel, surprisingly strong for her size, held me back gently.

"Hey, you don't need to run away. I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're afraid of. Just relax, I'm here, I've got you." she soothed, kneeling behind me as she continued to rub my back and shoulders comfortingly, waiting until I finally gave up and went boneless. Angry, harsh sobs ripped from my chest, tearing my heart out over and over again in some sick, Promethean punishment as I continued to crack into pieces. Yet she anchored me, holding me up, stopping me from falling to the floor in defeat, her little body covering mine protectively. The auditorium, which had earlier been decorated with the delicate sound of my voice, was now splattered with the cruel sounds of my anguish like some grotesque crime scene. My entire frame shuddered and shook, yet Rachel's delicate touch quelled the storm, soothed the emotions which were now betraying me. She was all around me, her voice whispering soothing sounds that may have been words into my ear, her gentle hands stroking my hair and holding my shoulders, stopping me from tearing in two, even her scent, the lightest, most natural vanilla perfume along with something I couldn't quite identify, some mystery. Suddenly it was even harder to stay calm, but for different reasons. The pink flush upon my skin and the fluttering in my chest which seemed so innocent and happy until I realized what they meant, and why they were happening. I jumped out of Rachel's arms instantly, staring at her with a still-pounding heart and trying to ignore her dismayed, hurt expression.

"I'm sorry, I-I I can't Rachel-" I stuttered inarticulately, suddenly losing my grasp on the English language while I was around her too. My mouth finally clamped itself shut as I averted my gaze from her face, trying to hide the blush that was tangibly creeping up my neck.

"Quinn, it's okay. Calm down, okay?" she soothed. I closed my eyes momentarily, losing myself in the calming melody of her voice. Whether she was belting out show tunes, or even doing her irritating-yet-endearing rambling thing she does, it always sounds beautiful.

"I'm sorry-thank you." I blurted out, slowly backing away once more. The situation had all of a sudden gotten too heavy for me to face, and I could no longer look at Rachel and see anything but the girl I tormented for years, the girl I thought I despised for so long, the girl whom I had all these confusing feelings for now. I was such a failure, running again. I always run away. Maybe that's how I ended up in this position.

"Quinn wait!" she called after me from her position upon the stage, her home-away-from-home.

"That song. It was beautiful." She shyly admitted, a rosy kiss of a blush ghosting upon her cheeks. I gave her a tense smile in return, before bolting out of the auditorium. That little compliment lit the smallest spark within me, creating a light so small it was probably an illusion. But that little light, that little presence of hope in my life, was still grossly overmatched by the black sadness which surrounded it like a giant beast with a yawning, wide black hole of a mouth. With that light there, it made the darkness seem even larger, even more intimidating. Suddenly, like that dying little light, I was alone as well, alone and living within the constraints of my darkness.

**A/N the song in this chapter is **_**Dark Come Soon**_** by my favorite band of all time, Tegan and Sara! Please review, let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N sorry for the wait, I've literally had the next four chapters typed up and ready to be proofread! I just always forget that they're there! But since I have a couple on hand, I'll probably update again later today! Enjoy!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Three

The morning greeted me with the same, violent, rude awakening I had been receiving for almost two weeks straight now, the gut-wrenching nausea of morning sickness. It really makes you realize how joyless your life is when the only silver lining you can find in a day is the fact that you didn't puke in your car. I grabbed a change of clothing out of my Cheerios duffel bag in the trunk, and begrudgingly started my new morning routine. 1) Sneak into the locker room, via the master keys Sue gives to all her cheerleaders in case she needs them to fetch her hormone replacements, or to lock the classrooms of any teachers she dislikes so they get in trouble for being late (Mr. Schue's fallen victim to that one pretty often), and shower. 2) Brush my teeth and do my hair in the school washroom. 3) Grab my backpack and schoolbooks from the back of my car, then wait outside the school. To any janitor or teacher, I just looked like a dedicated student coming in early to study. Anything but the truth of course. It was still dark out, it was so early, but that's just how I liked it. The quiet and peace of the inky dawn managed to permeate every brick of this school, turning it into a safe haven for a blissful hour or two. I headed to the library, my legs and chest suddenly filling with lead at the thought of moving. I had barely been awake for an hour and a half, and yet I could already feel the depression and misplaced anger roiling in my gut. It stopped being unnatural at this point, it was a habit. To me, it was perfectly normal to be on the brink of crying as I walked through the hallways, or be so frustrated with my current lot in life that I just wanted to yell and scream at the closest person, because every sound they made annoyed the heck out of me. It was just like someone donning their favorite hat or a lucky pair of socks, it was inevitable. That's why I loved the quiet, why I liked being left alone, because at least there, there's no one to witness my sadness but me, and there's no one to be furious at but me. I noticed a figure in red and white standing in front of me, almost completely hidden by the book I was pretending to read.

"Brittany? What are you doing here so early?" I asked. The blonde Cheerio was never really the academic type, so it was a bit confusing to see her in the library early in the morning.

"Lord Tubbington messed with my alarm clock as an April Fool's prank. I didn't really realize until I got here, and noticed it was still nighttime. Why are you here?" She exclaimed in her usual dry tone, as if it made total sense that her obese cat knew how to operate a clock, or that she thought it was April Fool's day when it in fact was early November.

"Studying, I've got a big test coming up." I lied easily, the pre-rehearsed excuse rolling off my tongue effortlessly.

"On the dictionary?" she asked, gesturing to the book cover with her thin, delicate hand. Oh, it was a dictionary; I had just grabbed the biggest book off the shelf. I'm usually more careful than this. Brittany acted as if she knew this already, as her eyes mulled over my facial expression, reading me like I was a book.

"Is everything okay Q? Because you've been acting sad recently, and you're always in school early, which like, never used to happen. Plus Santana's been acting weird too, she keeps telling me she can't come over to my house anymore because she's got homework, and even when we do hang out she's so preoccupied. Is there like, a huge test coming up that I don't know about? Because usually teachers put that on the homework board, and this seems like something bigger than that." I was actually surprised at how much she had noticed, but I shouldn't have been. What Britt lacked in book-smarts, she made up for in her uncanny ability for noticing people's feelings. Of course, that was a bit of a drawback for me, as someone who wanted to keep everything hidden.

"Yeah, it's fine B." I replied curtly, uncomfortable at the idea of someone finding out. I avoided her gaze, a telltale sign that I didn't want her to know about it. To someone as observant and empathetic as Brittany, I may as well have written "I'M NOT FINE" all over the walls in my own blood. Thankfully though, the blonde Cheerio dropped the line of questioning, her crystal-clear blue eyes softening even more. They were almost as warm and inviting as Rachel's…

"Okay Q. C'mon." she beckoned, extending a gentle pinky my way. Strange, she only ever did that with Santana.

"You looked lonely." She added, as if she could read my mind. I felt something flutter in my chest, a happiness I had denied myself for a while. I felt loved. I accepted Brittany's pinky, linking mine in it as we walked through the hallways. She walked me all the way to my first class of the day, the whole walk there blathering on about the overwhelming evidence as to why Mr. Douglass, the new math teacher, was clearly a robot, and how Mr. Kidney the janitor drinks alcohol from teapots when no one's looking. I knew exactly what she was doing, she was bending over backwards- well, not literally, she had tried that and I stopped her for fear of drawing too much attention to myself-to make me smile. It was sweet, and it made a difference, I think. After first period, which dragged its heels with about as much energy as the lecture I'd been forced to endure had. An hour and a half on "The Importance of Archetypes in the Works of Charles Dickens" was about as boring an English class as I could get. I had actually considered puking in the garbage can so the teacher would let me out of class to go to the nurse's office and lie down, just to get out of it. Besides that though, the day hadn't been too bad. I opened my locker, leaning into it as if I could just climb in and hide away. I shut it slowly; surprised to see a handsome, yet unfamiliar, face on the other side of the door.

"You dropped this in the hallway." He said softly, his striking bluish-green eyes tentatively meeting mine as he held out a tattered classroom copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. He offered it to me with one hand, while moving his shaggy, dusky brown hair away from his face. "Must have been in a rush to escape that class. I'm Darrell by the way, Darrell Ekland. I just moved here." He said kindly, trying to make conversation. I was almost immediately wary of him, but it was more because of the principle that no one seemed to want to befriend me these days unless they were planning on throwing a slushy in my face.

"Um hi... Quinn Fabray. Thanks for picking it up I suppose." I answered warily, accepting the book while avoiding even skimming his hands by accident. Something about the casual posture and easygoing nature of this guy freaked me out, I wasn't used to people being like this around me. Y'know, being nice.

"No problem. Although if I didn't think you needed it for a class I probably would have done you a favor and left it there. I've never been a big fan of these long, boring, old books we have to read. Unless you actually like it-" he backtracked suddenly, as if worried that he may have insulted me by disliking old English literature.

"I don't either. They're a total drag." I groaned, still on my guard, but unable to completely get rid of this guy.

"Yeah, totally. Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to go out tomorrow night? I hear this local restaurant BreadstiX is good…" he finally seemed to get the courage up to look me square in the eye at this statement, but it still caught me intensely off-guard.

"Why would I go out with you? I just met you." I rebutted, turning away as I shoved the found book into my locker begrudgingly.

"Because I've had a bit of a crush on you ever since I moved here a week and a half ago. Plus I think you're really pretty, and we can bond over our mutual wish that Charles Dickens became a grocer, or carpenter, or anything besides writing confusing books." His eyes were so full of hope, and they managed to tear away the floodgates of neediness which I usually kept stitched up tight. He stared at me like boys used to stare at me, before the gossip mill alerted to all that I was knocked up. In fact, since my bump was so small and easily concealed, it didn't appear that this kid even thought I was pregnant at all. I had been an outcast for weeks now, and suddenly there was someone who wanted me! If I was dating someone, maybe everyone else would be able to overlook the whole pregnant ex-cheerleader thing? Maybe I could regain a shred of my former popularity? Plus more importantly, I was wanted, someone wanted me!

"Umm…" I trailed off, scrutinizing him closely. With him standing so close to me, almost uncomfortably so, I could see every detail of him up close. He was tall and lean, not heavily muscled, but not weak and limp either. His eyes were an ocean green color, with flecks of gold around the centre like in some ancient Aztec mosaic, which I would have found alluring if I couldn't stop wishing they were soft, sincere chestnut brown instead. He had a firm jawline, hardly dawned upon by stubble, giving the angular lines and prominent cheekbones a boyish, youthful charm. His hair looked like it belonged to Cody Simpson and Justin Bieber's illegitimate love child, with its 'I-just-rolled-out-of-bed' wavy, tousled look. The color seemed confused though, like one day his hair simply couldn't decide whether it wanted to be brown or blonde, leaving it an undecided brownish-beige color, with none of the lustre and softness of Rachel's angelic midnight brown locks. What is going on with me? I can't even look at this guy without wishing that it was Rachel, the Hobbit, Yentl, Man-hands, the frustratingly adorable diva with the unique ability to dress like an institutionalized-color-blind-librarian-toddler, who was asking me to dinner at BreadstiX. Frustration roiled and bubbled at the bottom of my stomach, brought on by my sudden realization that I felt trapped, trapped between who I was supposed to be, and who I am, between who I should want, and who I truly desire. To his immense credit, Darrell was still standing there, only fixing me with a slightly-confused look at my sudden freeze-up. I didn't want his slightly-confused looks though, or his puppy-dog mosaic-tile eyes, or his confused-as-hell hair, or his pathetic attempts at conversation. I wanted her diminutive frame, and her disarmingly long, tanned legs, and her soft, supple curves, and her silken brunette hair, and her decadent dark chocolate eyes, and those pink petal-perfect lips, and that mind-blowing talent! I couldn't deny it any longer, I certainly had a crush on that little loudmouthed diva, which was why I made the rash decision and replied to Darrell with:

"Meet me there at 8, table for two."

**A/N please review, reviews make me want to write more, which means more chapters, which means (hopefully) more new reviews! It's a beautiful cycle! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I promised another chapter and I have delivered! Not much else to say here, except to remind you guys that this is a Faberry story, but I'm also taking the time to, put the characters through the ringer.**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Four

The restaurant was loud, and the air conditioning was on so high that I had goosebumps up my legs and arms, and the beginnings of frostbite on the tips of my toes. This dress, which hid my baby bump well, was tight and itchy and slowly strangling me to death. Darrell, whose last name I haven't bothered to remember, has been trying for the last hour to find some sort of common ground with which to talk about with me, and is floundering like a fish on land while irritatingly clinking his fork against his plate to fill the lull in conversation. And myself, I've been distracted the whole time, my mind flipping like a Rolodex in a busy office between topics. Baby. Rachel. Homelessness. Baby. Rachel. Homelessness. Clink. Baby. Rachel. Homelessness. Clink. Baby. Rachel. Clink. Homelessness. Baby. Clink. Rachel. Clink. Homelessness. Clink. Clink.

"Would you stop that!" I snapped irritably, causing Darrell's fork to fall from his hand and clatter to the table noisily in his shock. I realized that a few people were staring at us, prompted by my sharp tone, and I blushed in embarrassment before I struggled to cover for it. 'Sorry, I'm just… nervous. I haven't been on a date in a while and it's a little nerve-wracking, so…" I lied easily, watching the boy recover his impish grin easily.

"Relax, it's just you and I, nothing to be nervous about. Plus, someone as pretty as you, I find it hard to believe that you don't have guys knocking down your door for attention." He flirted back easily. I smiled shyly back, continuing to eat my spaghetti. I suppose this evening wasn't a complete loss, at least I'm getting a free, hot meal, something you don't get often when you live in a Honda and subsist on pre-natal vitamins and pilfered cafeteria food. Plus, if all goes well, this may be the popularity boost I've been in dire need of. I had gleaned from our superficial conversation that Darrell was captain of the senior hockey team. Sure, it wasn't football or anything, but he was a jock, an older, handsome jock, which could only help raise my status. As soon as the school sees me on his arm, I'll no longer be in the slushy-zone, I may not be top dog, HBIC, but it's better than nothing. If all I had to do was suffer through a couple dates with this guy, who actually seemed to like me, then I would certainly do it. I would do it and I would enjoy it.

"Cheque please." He asked, sliding his empty plate a few inches from the edge of the table to show that he had finished eating. Like a gentleman, he accepted the cheque, paying for our meal as I began to pack up.

"So… where do you work? I mean, the money had to come from somewhere." I attempted feebly at conversation, which seemed to brighten up his face greatly.

"The grocery store, nothing too glamorous I suppose, but I do get paid for it. But I'm just about to be promoted to full-time stockboy, I can feel it, they see my potential…" See, that's another thing about Rachel, she dreams big. She would never be happy with the idea of being able to man a cash register all by herself, or possibly getting a job at the local gas station, or at BreadstiX waitressing tables. Where others in this Podunk, ass-crack-of-nowhere town count their pennies they've earned delivering papers, she practices scales and posts videos and basically does anything to keep her talent alive and kicking and Broadway-ready. Once again, I am thinking about Rachel…

"Brr. It's a bit chilly out here." I lied poorly, shuffling closer to Darrell. It was actually a muggy night out, strange for this time of year, but it most definitely wasn't cold. Thankfully though, my date got the message, and wrapped one of his long arms around my shoulders, crushing me into his side, and filling my nostrils with the overwhelming stench of cologne. Maybe though, if I just stayed close enough to him, I could ignore my feelings for Rachel and focus on the guy I'm actually on a date with. That little thought set my muscles in motion, as I placed my hand on his chest and stopped him from his path to the car. Maybe, I thought while I roughly tugged his collar closer, maybe I could forget about this silly schoolgirl crush. As I roughly pressed my lips to his coarse, overpowering ones, I thought that maybe if I tried hard enough I could completely forget about the fact that I was ever attracted to a girl. When his viselike arms wrapped around my waist, and his eager tongue pried my lips apart harshly, I hoped that maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make myself attracted to him, to men at all. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to pretend that the sweaty, cologne-drenched scent of his skin was light and alluring, that the constricting manner with which I was being held was safe and warm, and that the aggressive tongue in my mouth was tender yet sensual. For a second or so it worked, and then I pulled away, forcing myself to do it slowly as to not look suspicious. Well, at least Darrell looked mind-blown.

"Wow…" he muttered under his breath, his eyes slightly glazed over. I stepped a bit more out of the embrace, allowing the cool fingers of the autumn breeze to stroke my cheeks and play with my hair, soothing me ever-so-slightly with its tender reassurance.

"Where do you live?" he asked as we got into his car, and with those four words all the blood drained from my face. I hadn't thought this far. I barely stopped myself from blurting out 'My car', and I scrambled to come up with a lie. Panic ran frantic little circles around my mind, panting heavily as it searched my empty, circular attic for an answer.

"Just a couple streets away from McKinley. You can drop me off near the school. See, my parents don't exactly know I'm on a date tonight, and they're super strict about 'their little girl' seeing boys. So I kinda snuck out, and it wouldn't be very subtle of me if you dropped me off out front of my house." It was choppy, and tough to believe, but it was better than awkward silence, or the truth.

'Hmm, I've got a badass here!" He crowed jokingly, his eyebrows doing a jaunty dance from behind his shaggy bangs. "Alright I suppose. I was planning on doing the gentlemanly thing and walking you to your door, but I'm flexible." He grinned impishly, before not-so-subtly moving to hold my hand. His giant paw completely hid my hand away, losing my delicate fingers beneath his mountainous knuckles, losing myself within him. A fitting metaphor. I was trying to lose some part of myself, the part of myself that was currently pining away for the girl I mercilessly tortured, by dating someone else. The familiar wide walkway that led up to the gaping mouth of our school's dark doors, and I gave a sigh of relief. At least I would no longer have to stay in here, reeling from the tension of this uncomfortable date.

"Okay, here we are." He begrudgingly pulled the car to a halt, Darrell's mood almost instantly going frosty. I supposed, in my hopefulness and naivety, that he was just upset that the night had to end or something equally idealistic and fairy-tale-ending-like. Because that meant that I would have done a better job of duping this boy than I was doing with myself. Every single fiber of my body, every strand of hair on my head, every ounce of willpower and smarts treasured within my brain, everything that makes me who I am was begging, pleading with itself to just enjoy the kiss. To just be like every other girl my age and like a boy. I mean, Darrell is sweet, and despite being a little awkward, he tries so hard, and deep, deep down, all of his trying won't make a difference. And even deeper down, past all that is visible, in the subbasement of my psyche, in the tenth circle of my own personal hell, I hated myself for it.

"Thank you for tonight, I had a good time." Even my words sounded empty, like the ghostly crooning of wind against hollow reeds. I tried to cover up my obvious lack of inflection with a weary-yet hopefully cute-grin, which succeeded in making Darrell perk up.

"So did I. I'll see you around, alright?" he exchanged my soft grin for his boyish smile, one of those cliché-smirks where you'd expect his teeth to sparkle flawlessly or some other indication of perfection. I nodded my reply quickly, watching as he got into his car, put it in gear, and drove away. The taillights were brief, red winking eyes, staring through me as they made their hasty escape, the metallic growl of the beast grinding out:

_Liar, liar, liar…_

against the rough gravel of the road, before disappearing completely, leaving me alone once more. All alone except for my old friend Darkness, who walked beside me with its whisper-soft tread, wreathing its feather-light arms around my slim frame, which felt about as sturdy as a child's toothpick-and-clay creation, and offering me it's protective black shawl stitched of silence and black velvety night. I accepted the cloak from my old comrade, and I trudged blearily to my car. Finally, I had a friend who wouldn't probe, wouldn't label, wouldn't judge, wouldn't inquire, wouldn't implore, wouldn't complain, wouldn't reject me. With the inky shroud tucked up around my neck and face like a duvet, I curled into the same pose in the back of my car, and waited for sleep to drag me into the next dreary day, whereupon it would heave me unceremoniously from its convoy, and force me to face the sunlight.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N hey guys, loving the reviews, here's another chapter, so keep 'em coming!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, if I did, then Brittany would have been talking about Santana last episode, not Lord Tubbington. I mean, come on, someone whom she 'truly loves and needs to make amends with'? She may as well have said 'A certain smoking hot Latina ex-cheerleader who likes Amy Winehouse and Alanis Morissette, and cries when she's drunk'**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Five

Something happened over the next few days, a shift in my current condition. I walked down the halls, and while no one fell to my feet to worship, no one walked right through me anymore. I was suddenly a somebody again, and that was all thanks to the presence of my new, hot, jock boyfriend, namely, Darrell. Yeah sure, I still wanted to kiss him about as much as I wanted to lick the floor of the Cheerios change room, but the looks, and the whispers, the absence of any slushying, was like a spoonful of sugar. It made the bitter pill a lot easier to swallow. I fished my science text book out of my locker, dropping it in my bag with a hollow thunk before closing my locker. As soon as I shut the door, _he_ materialized behind it, with a relaxed expression leaning up against the wall as if he had been waiting for me to discover him for a while now.

"Geez Darrell, do you just camp out behind my locker all day waiting for me to close it?" I asked, trying to slow my racing heart at his sudden apparition.

"Nah, but having a few extra spare periods does have its advantages when it comes to camping out." He replied cheerily, swooping in to give me a soft peck upon the cheek before grabbing my bag for me.

"Hmm… chivalry, I approve." I appraised his actions flirtatiously. Recently I had been getting better at the whole flirting-with-guys thing, which was probably the result of a lack of Rachel sightings, and sheer practice. He wrapped his constricting arm around my shoulder and guided me through the hallway, garnering quite a few whispers. I shot a venomous glare at the nearest group, consisting of Jacob Ben Israel, AKA Jew-Fro, and his fellow gossipmonger lackeys. He jumped into action, pulling his monogrammed microphone and tape recorder from god-knows-where and keeping pace with Darrell and my brisk clip.

"Quinn Fabray! Rumor has it that you've found a new beau, care to comment?" he asked stupidly, despite the fact that I obviously had said 'beau' right beside me. Out of nowhere, Santana and Brittany appeared, mirror images with their Cheerios uniforms on, and eternally linked at the pinkies.

"First of all, this is none of your damn business Jew-Fro, so you better take that microphone out of my girl Q's grill, afores I take it and shove it so far up your ass, you'll be able to taste the fingerprints on the handle left behind by those greasy, disgusting, sweaty little rodent hands of yours. Secondly, if you ever write anything on your blog that uses Britt's name in the same sentence as the word 'stupid' ever again, the microphone up your ass will be the least of your worries. Now beat it!" the reddish cloud of hair quivered, darting away from Santana like a bat out of hell.

"Thanks S." I muttered. A part of my mind was grateful for her apparition, because Jacob had this freaky talent of twisting anything that wasn't a direct death threat into some sort of juicy rumor. The other part of my mind wondered how truly stupid he was, since everyone at this school knows that you don't insult Brittany unless you plan on dying a slow, painful death.

"No probs Q, I've been wanting to tear the little Jewish toilet-brush a new one for a while. But seriously, are you and Mop-Head really hooking up?" Darrell looked mildly insulted at her jab at his hairstyle, but chose not to comment, while I blushed angrily.

"Santana…" I began in a warning tone.

"It's okay Quinn, I've got a calculus class to get to anyway, catch you later." Darrell excused himself, giving me a brisk peck on the cheek before assimilating into the crowd again.

"When he smiles, he looks kind of like my neighbour Mrs. Bradley's lapdog. Y'know, San, the one that makes that weird grunting sound when he breathes?" Brittany exclaimed in a matter-of-fact tone, not at all helping the situation. I didn't miss the smitten look Santana threw Brittany's way at the thinly-veiled insult, despite the fact that the blonde probably never intended it that way. She just had a different way of looking at things.

"Totally Britt. Dog-Boy." She agreed happily. "But seriously Q, what's with you and this Mutt? Because B has a point, he does look like one of those bratty little lapdogs with too much hair and not enough brains."

"San, you really are in no position to tell me who I should and shouldn't date. Haven't you realized that no one's even dared look at me weirdly since we started dating? Why wouldn't I take advantage of that?" I asked the Latina, rolling my eyes irritably as I pushed through the crowded hallways to get to my science class.

"Because he's an ignorant puck-headed troll who looks like the cross between a bratty Pomeranian named 'Tinkles' and a bad actor in a B-grade film about surfing and 'aloha' and 'hanging ten' and all that shit-" Brittany quieted the ranting girl with a feather-light touch on her bicep, managing to hold her back with the simplest action so she should cut in.

"I think what San is trying to say is that we don't think he's good for you. I just have a bad feeling about him Q. Like, that bad feeling I had about Lord Tubbington sneaking out at night. Turns out he got arrested by the police for assault, and has been trying to forge a fake identity to escape going to jail." Okay, I was slightly confused now, was Brittany talking about the crazy adventures of her cat, or does she truly believe that my boyfriend's trying to create a new identity to escape the police?

"Umm… Thanks B, but he's fine. I love him, and he loves me." Santana pretended to stick her fingers down her throat and made a gagging noise at this profession, while Brittany just stared at me.

"No you don't. Love means that that person was made for you, that you fit together, like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Love means that you would do anything for that person, whether it's comforting them after a hard day, or sitting through a terrifying horror movie just to spend time with them, or sharing your favorite fuzzy yellow ducky blanket when their feet get cold, or taking the time to see them for who they are and not what other people label them as. Right San?" she asked, resting her head on the shorter girl's shoulder and fixing her with a soft gaze, who just nodded her reply. I swear I saw a sheen of emotion glint within Santana's eyes before she forced it away, masking it with a shuddering sigh.

"Totally Britt." She averted her eyes nervously, staring into my open science classroom where kids were starting to take their seats.

"Well I love him." I insisted vehemently, trying harder to convince myself than the two Cheerios standing in front of me. Brittany just gave a little sigh of frustration at my answer, before fixing me with a soft, innocent look.

"If you say so Q. We're only looking out for you." she assured, pulling me into a quick hug before tugging Santana alongside her down the hallway, still linked by their pinkies. I stood outside of the door frozen in thought, mulling over Brittany's definition of love. I knew that Darrell didn't fit at all, that was a no-brainer, but did I feel that way about Rachel… No! I can't even be considering this anymore! I have a boyfriend. I have a BOY-friend! That's reason enough no to think like that anymore. I've got to stop it with this stupid crush! This is silly, and wrong, and-

"Miss Fabray?" our teacher stood at the front of the classroom staring at me expectantly, indicating towards a disarray of chicken-scratch letters upon the whiteboard.

"Once you find that it's convenient for you to pay attention to the lesson, can you tell me what the product of a reaction between nitrogen and iodine?" the grumbled, indicating again to a periodic table beside the board.

"Uhm.." I stuttered. I hadn't been paying attention at all, too caught up in my own thougts. The science teacher, a heavyset, grumpy older woman gave a disapproving harrumph while staring at me. She didn't say another word, but I could understand what she meant perfectly.

"_You've already gotten yourself knocked up, and now you aren't listening in class. Two words. Going. Nowhere."_

Other students in the class giggled and whispered silently at my obvious distraction, as if one slip-up from a normally straight-A student required a commentary. I couldn't untangle one sentence from the jumble of whispers, but I just knew they were talking about me. Familiar insults crept up my legs like fire ants, my skin crawling uncomfortably with each passing second of having to listen to them, over and over again, a merciless horde of tiny, biting words. My leg began to quiver anxiously, I tapped my pencil against my book, any way to externalize the rapidly growing unease in my stomach. Even the clock face which I looked towards for relief stared at me with its unblinking owl's-eye, counting off the seconds with a disapproving 'tsk-tsk'. Must everything in my life look down upon me? I hardly noticed the fact that I was clenching my fists so hard that my nails dug little half-moon scratches into my palm. The irritating buzz of pain just got tossed upon the heavy frustration in my gut. With each second that ticked by, I felt claws dig into my insides, teeth gnawing at my lungs, as a feral beast paced anxious little circles within my stomach until-

"Okay class, complete questions 1-20 in your textbook. You may now be dismissed." I bolted from my seat and nearly took off at a dead sprint, desperate to be freed from the predatory gazes of my classmates. The only thing that kept me from flying from that school at breakneck speed was the knowledge that I could never outrun what I was truly trying to escape-Myself.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I'm positively loving the reviews I've been receiving! And for those of you (or all of you) who want Darrell gone, well he's on his way out slowly. And he's bound to make more of a mess when leaving than how Quinn was before they met…**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Six

"Okay kids, this week's assignment." Mr. Schuester announced, the loud crowing of his voice and the squeal of the marker protesting against the whiteboard shaking me from the haze I'd been hovering in. He scrawled something hastily in nearly illegible handwriting before rapping the marker against the board triumphantly, looking terribly proud of himself.

"Freedom." He announced, as the rest of the choir looked on in confusion.

"Please tell me it's not some obscure Journey song." I heard Santana humorlessly mutter under her breath, as the rest of the Glee club murmured affirmations. I would normally join in, but recently I just didn't have the energy to do much of anything but hide out in the background

"No, it's not. You'll be pleased to know that I've saved that lesson for next week!" he smiled jokingly, and we all let out a good-humoured groan. His smirk disappeared as he continued to pace about the room, gesturing with his hands vibrantly, beaming like he was delivering a motivational speech.

"But over the past few weeks or so, all of you just seem to become less and less motivated, and more and more separated. I want you guys to have complete freedom with your song choices this week. Pick a favorite song, or one that expresses your feelings recently, or one that rekindles your passion for singing again. Make sure it's appropriate though." he sent a stern glance towards Puck, and the entire club groaned. Puck had been known to… cross a few lines when it came to his song choices.

"Pick something to bring the light back into your eyes, and the life back into the Glee club! If we're going to win Regionals then we need to have that fire back, it's what sets us apart from the others, it's what makes us great! Now, over the next week I want to see us all rediscover why we love Glee so much, through song!" he seemed awfully proud of himself for coming up with this idea, and he beamed with the satisfaction of a positive lesson while the rest of the Glee clubbers cheered. I just think they were glad we weren't doing Journey. The choir room fragmented into smaller groups, cliques within cliques, to discuss song selections. It was almost laughable, since I could probably predict each club member's song selection. They tend to be a predictable bunch. Rachel and Kurt would be singing something by some Broadway starlet, Mercedes would pick a flashy song with so many runs in it that it was practically a marathon, Puck would pick something rock-and-roll and slightly crude in the area of subject matter, Finn would pick something… the genre of which was hard to decide, as long as it had zero chance of him dancing. After all, he could sing just about any song while still wearing his trademark 'Gassy Infant' face, as Santana called it. I was all-too happy to hide away in the corner of the room, pretending to think of songs while sketching and doodling in my notebook. After a while the shapes began to resemble actual pictures, or more like fragments of one. Completely random squiggles traversing the lined paper slowly began to look like the ripples of brunette hair over petite shoulders, or the gentle curve of her spine, or the jaunty skipping rhythm made by polished Mary-Janes through high school hallways. Suddenly, the fluttering in my heart which felt so right but so wrong, made me stop doodling immediately. Everything reminded me of _her_ nowadays. As soon as I slammed the notebook shut, I saw said unnamed little diva stick her hand straight up in the air, waving it around so Mr. Schue had no chance of not seeing it.

"Mr. Schuester, I believe I have a song that sums up my current feelings perfectly. Granted I haven't really practiced it much, but I'm hoping that the raw emotions I can channel into it will more than make up for it in that regard." Rachel finally took a breath after that long, unbroken rant, and waited expectantly for the spotlight to be handed to her.

"Cool it Yentl." Santana muttered silently, just as Mercedes gave an eye-roll that was only missing her trademark 'Hell to the no!' their reactions sent a flush of frustration under my skin like a tidal wave, which was mostly due to the fact that I liked Rachel. Their frustration was understandable, but their eagerness to attack her was uncalled for. Oftentimes I forgot that this was show choir, and not fight club, considering the drama-fueled powder keg we usually hung suspended in.

"Okay Rachel, the floor is yours." Mr. Schue said, his eyes wide in surprise. I couldn't tell if this was his reaction to the club's less than enthusiastic response, or the fact that Rachel already had a song prepared. If it happened to be the latter, then Mr. Schue should work on his acting skills, because this was nothing to be shocked about.

"I would normally do a brief introduction before I start, but I happen to believe that a piece of music should stand alone, and in this case I believe that my feelings are made perfectly clear through song." She rambled, before leaping up to take centre stage in the choir room. She gave a subtle nod to Brad the piano man, and a soothing melody began to play.

_Over the sea and far away_

_She's waiting like an iceberg_

_Waiting to change_

_But she's cold inside_

_She wants to be like the water_

The diva began to sway slightly on her tiptoes, letting the music engulf her like the gently swaying tides of the ocean. I glanced briefly at the other Glee club members, unable to tear my gaze away from Rachel for too long, but curious to see if any of them recognized the song. Because if I had to sit through another one of those sappy, treacly love songs from her to Finn, extolling all the little joys of being in love with Frankenteen, then I may just go all Sue Sylvester on this joint.

_All the muscles tighten in her face_

_Buries her soul in one embrace_

_They're one in the same_

_Just like water_

At this point, Rachel's gaze, which had been focused on some faraway point in the choir room, turned to me. A part of me was thrilled simply at the fact that she was looking at me, which I tried futilely to hide from anyone who may take notice. Another part of me was wondering if she actually meant to sing that to me, specifically.

_The fire fades away  
Most of everyday  
Is full of tired excuses  
But it's too hard to say  
I wish it were simple  
But we give up easily  
You're close enough to see that  
You're the other side of the world to me_

It was during the chorus that she refocused her attention on Finn, which was nauseating for a second until I actually listened to what she was singing. It sounded like… No, that's not possible? She was encountering problems with Finnept? There was trouble in paradise? For a second, I was actually the closest I'd been to happiness that I'd been in a while. Despite the fact that this almost-happiness was hollow, and due to someone else's misfortune. That brief thrill of pleasure only lasted until I noticed the precious diamond tears building in endless brown eyes, clinging to her lush eyelashes like ripe fruit in the midsummer sun.

_On comes the panic light  
Holding on with fingers and feelings alike  
But the time has come  
To move along_

Finnane, on the other hand, looked about as confused as ever. The teen boy either a) didn't clue in on the fact that his girlfriend was possibly breaking up with him in song, in front of the rest of the Glee club, or b) that they were having relationship troubles in the first place. Rachel, contrarily, looked like a wreck. Any ghost of the warm gaze she had fixed me with earlier was exorcised from her entire visage, replaced by the bitter cringing of a fresh wound against the outside air.

_Can you help me?  
Can you let me go  
And can you still love me  
When you can't see me anymore?_

I could hear the subtlest hint of high, reedy tears creeping into her singing voice as she reached the end of the song. Strangely enough, the slight roughness, that rawness just made her performance all the more tender, emotional, beautiful. Unrehearsed and nearly crying, this was one of the best songs she's ever sung. And that's coming from a girl who's seen every single one of her MySpace singing videos.

_The fire fades away  
Most of everyday  
Is full of tired excuses  
But it's too hard to say  
I wish it were simple  
But we give up easily  
You're close enough to see that  
You're the other side of the world to me_

The last chorus of the song grew silent, intimate, and I found myself absentmindedly rubbing at a tear upon my own cheek, mimicking those upon the tanned cheekbones of the brunette. Baby hormones, or at least that's what I'm blaming it on if anyone asks. Truthfully, that one runaway tear awakened this burning, blistering desire within my weary eyelids to just break down and dissolve completely. I was tired of holding up this gargantuan façade of mine, it was more exhausting than any of Coach Sylvester's drills. But, like Coach Sylvester's drills, this was mandatory participation, or I would face death; social death. Breaking down was non-optional. Rachel seemed to have no qualms with it though, as she stood, chest heaving, silently suspended by a few silvery threads within this moment. As soon as those baby-hair-fine threads snapped, she bolted from the room in a flurry of skirts and polished Mary-Janes.

"Rachel, wait..?" Finn lurched from his chair, but she was gone before he could make a movement. The entire room looked similarly left behind, and Mr. Schuester finally spoke up.

"Well, that was an… emotional performance. Start looking for those songs guys!" he feebly tried to save the meeting, as people already started packing up to leave. I was almost to my locker when Santana caught up with me.

"Hey Q, do you wanna hang with Britt-Britt and I? We're going to my place to watch Monsters Inc. since I sorta promised B that I'd watch it with her as long as she kept that fat cat of hers from hogging the popcorn bowl. Our Q is always welcome though, wanna come?" she asked. Something about the Latina was different now. She hushed tone of her voice, the wide openness of her pleading dark eyes, the gentle slope of her shoulders under the invisible weight of the day. Everything about her was screaming for help, but I couldn't. I had a date with Darrell.

"I'm sorry S, I'm going out with Darrell." I apologized, watching the everyday-Santana return as her preened brows furrowed into a frown._  
_"Really? Since when does Dog-boy take precedence over the Unholy Trinity?" I sensed that the question was rhetorical, but I was about to answer anyway when she continued.

"Y'know what? That's fine. I can totally see the appeal of having Toto slobbering all over your face, isn't dog spit supposed to have mysterious healing powers or something? But eventually Snoopy's gonna sniff out that you're preggo, and then you'll be wanting us around, right?" she smirked evilly, her lips crumpling as if she'd just tasted something sour before she whirled around and stalked down the hallway.

"San, wait!" I called desperately. I wasn't quite sure why she was so furious. Something more was going on here, and I wasn't going to find out what that was if I kept inadvertently pushing her away. Especially since Santana was the most volatile substance known to man when she's hurt. All it takes is one misstep and suddenly you're flat on your ass in the smoldering crater of an atomic bomb of bitchiness.

"Whatevs Q! Oh, and try to keep Rover from pissing on every fire hydrant you pass when you take him out for his walk!" she yelled down the hall, before disappearing around the corner in a whirl of red, white, and black. I sighed forlornly as I finished packing my locker. First Rachel's breakdown and now Santana's freak-out, I suppose I should be comforted or something that I wasn't the only mentally unstable one here. All it did was serve to make the yawning hole of my loneliness even wider and more gaping. I grabbed my backpack and flung it over my shoulder, cringing when that elicited a sharp, stabbing pain in my abdomen.

"Shit… sorry." I apologized to no one in particular, perhaps my unborn child, perhaps myself, just anyone who would listen. Maybe I should work on taking it easy from now on, especially since the last thing I need is to become one of those pregnancy horror stories where you end up bedridden for months on end. Since I'm currently bereft of a bed, that would be quite the struggle for me. I saw the familiar car pull up, its headlights splitting the young dusk like a machete. It was pretty dark out here, I must have been in Glee for a long time.

"Hey Babe." I was greeted unceremoniously by Darrell, who, with a sheepish expression, shoved a few rumpled papers off the front seat of the car.

"Hey, where are we going?" I asked, just a little nervous about this 'surprise date' idea. With a kiss that was just a little too hungry to be reassuring, we pulled out of the McKinley parking lot and onto the sleepy side road, headed to god-knows-where.

"You'll see." Darrell smirked enigmatically before focusing on the road once more. I stared outside the windows, watching familiar places flash by like slides in an old movie. The hill I used to go tobogganing on brought back memories of breathless energy, boundless youth, victorious screams, and the undeniable feeling of cold air in your lungs making you feel that much more alive. An old movie theatre with light bulbs speckled with dirt and rain residue reminded me of the first time I went out with Santana and Brittany on our own, how grown-up and proud we felt, which was a tall feat for a group of girls who were clamoring in line for Finding Nemo. Somewhere along the way, we ended up at Lima Groves Elementary School. The adjacent park was as deserted as the school itself, yet filled with haunting memories. I could picture the sun-bleached days where all of us, out for recess and drunk on fresh air, ran circles about the playground, or made hideaways in the clumps of scraggly trees. Everything seemed so much more important back then. Dramas were resolved with a pompous superiority, as if that stupid little argument suddenly became a world war, and we were all brave, honest soldiers, eager to fight. Secrets were kept and traded across the playground like nuggets of gold. Little did we know that those war wounds heal over into ugly scars, or that those nuggets of gold turn to worthless, toxic, lead with time. We pulled into the vacant parking lot, and Darrell threw the parking brake on.

'What are we doing here?" I asked confusedly. Night was freefalling over the city outside, and something about this scenario made me exceedingly uncomfortable.

"This place clears out right at 3:30, by now it's as deserted as a nuclear wasteland." He answered. Of course, it wasn't even the answer to my question. The apathetic side of me didn't really care. Roughly, Darrell leaned over the middle portion of the car and captured my lips with his. I inwardly cringed at his forwardness, the uncomfortable scraping of his patchy stubble grating against my smooth cheek, mirroring the sandpaper of my uncomfortable guise grating against my soul. I couldn't keep this up, stretching this costume, this lie over the blistering, painful ugliness that I was ashamed to call myself. I shrank away from his imposing figure however, when a particularly rough bite on my lower lip made his intent clear.

"Don't." I insisted, forcing myself into the crevice between the seat of the car and the door, my hand braced against his chest to keep him away. I've gotten myself into this mess before, sex, and it got me here. I sure as hell wasn't going to do it again.

"Why not? From what I've heard you'd give it up for the first guy who asked." He smiled cruelly, a crooked, jagged mirth through which everything else became clear. He knew. He fucking knew everything. How stupid was I? How completely and utterly stupid could I be, to believe that someone actually liked me? I shook my head no again, not only telling him no, but denying the whole situation. This couldn't be happening, after all that I've had to put up with, this was supposed to be the one good thing that happened to me. This was my one chance to stop from drowning; this was the lifeline for my sinking popularity. He growled under his breath, before reaching over and fumbling with the door lock. There was no malice in his eyes, no hint of violence or threat, just an upset resignation.

"Did you really think I didn't know? I may be a hockey player but I haven't been hit in the head that many times. That school's full of gossip sharks, you didn't think I'd ever hear anything? About Quinn Fabray and her scandals." He muttered, not even meeting my eyes. I was pretty sure that I would just disappear in a few seconds, that in the presence of the fact that yet another person knew how much of a failure would just make me curl into an even smaller ball until I disappeared altogether. Or perhaps I'd die, my heart was beating unnaturally fast, is it possible to die of shame?

"Just… go." Darrell shoved the door open, leaving me with an escape route, a path away from his scalding eyes. For a second I was suspended there, unable to move or think or breathe or even comprehend the consequences of my situation. Instead, in a bolt of animalistic panic, I ran. I always run when it gets hard. It doesn't matter whether I'm running from something, or running away to someplace within myself, I'm always running. I ran until I reached the old park, ran until I collapsed against the sand cradling my stomach. I ran until all I could hear was the fanning of the wind in the trees, and the eerie clanking of the chains on the swings, like those belonging to Marley's ghost, weighting me down.

**A/N Reviews are loved, don't be shy when it comes to sending them, I adore your feedback!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N hi again guys! Now, before I forget (Again!) the song Rachel sung in that last chapter was Other Side Of The World, by KT Tunstall! It's an awesome song and I fully encourage that you guys listen to it, I can totally picture Lea Michele singing it. Now, without further ado, here's the next chapter!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Seven

The next morning came with as much warning and kindness as a slap to the face. The young sunlight shining through the dusty windows became daggers that assailed my tender eyes. All the colors seemed to bright, each chipper call of a bird too energetic and loud. Everything was wrong. If I was still someone with intense faith in God, I'd think He was telling me something. But that had fallen by the wayside with each bad thing that happened to me, with each person that abandoned me, with each scathing stare I earned during church, with each passing day. Eventually I had just stopped trying, stopped believing, because I knew that's what He did about me. Just stopped caring. I lurched upward, steadying myself against the seat in front of me and waiting for the morning sickness to slam into me, but it never came. Huh, a silver lining, who'd have thought it? In my rush to get into school and begin my morning ritual, I noticed the dress Rachel had let me borrow. It wasn't hard to notice, after all, it was the only piece of clothing in this car that wasn't wrinkled, or crumpled into a ball awaiting a run to the Laundromat which I knew I couldn't afford. The dress however, was laid out neatly against the back of the seat, a kind of compromise I'd made. The calming vanilla-musk perfume of her skin still clung to the fabric, which made it almost impossible to bury my face within and inhale, but I also felt like that was a bit weird and stalkerish. Laying it out where I could see and smell was a fair compromise, I supposed. I'm not sure, something about that piece of clothing soothed me, it was almost like she was there all the time with me, and if I closed my eyes I could almost imagine that she was hugging me just like on that stage a few weeks ago. I folded the dress up and put it into my backpack, anyway I had to give it back sometime. Something within me snapped, and just like that, five minutes into the day, and I'd already had enough. I groaned as I clambered out of the backseat, tugging on the cardigan I'd grabbed as it snagged on my car door, before realizing the newfound chill in the air. Winter was coming, shit. Just another obstacle. Like always, the building was still asleep, and I snuck in to continue with my usual morning routine. By the time I was dressed, ready, and sufficiently prepared to face the day, it was almost time for first period to start. I was running late, and I cursed under my breath in frustration. If I become less vigilant about all this, people will definitely find out, but it's all so overwhelming. Shoving that aside, I rushed out into the tide of students, all rushing towards their respective classes. I had retreated so far within my head, preoccupied with mentally chastising myself for letting my guard slip, that I didn't notice the weird stares from onlookers until Jacob Ben Israel was right in my face.

"Quinn Fabray!" he shouted, shoving that obnoxious microphone right beneath my nose, practically smacking me in the face with his over-eagerness.

"Do you have any comment on last night's breaking news I released on my blog?" why would I have any comment? I'm pretty sure that I've been relegated to the position of insignificant-little-speck-of-nothingness on the high school stage. He apparently took my silence as an indication that I had no idea what the heck he'd been talking about. Which of course was true, the last I'd heard, he was busy 'reporting' on Brittany's 'summer vacation lost in the sewers'. His skinny, rat-like paw held a screenshot from his blog, and he shoved it in my face much like he did with the microphone. Once I determined that the risk of paper cuts to my corneas was passed, I opened my eyes and read the headline cautiously.

**Insider Tell-All on Quinn Fabray—Once a Slut, Always a Slut?**

No.

"I happened to run into that new boy-toy of yours the other day, and he just wouldn't stop going on and on about your 'wild night' together." He clarified, fumbling with the tape recorder on his belt as if he still thought he was going to get an interview. What wild night though? Literally nothing went on between the two of us!

"Nothing happened." I stated plainly, trying to hide the fact that I was panicking inside. The words seemed to float out of my grasp like a balloon, before I could grab them and have that tangible proof that someone was lying.

"That's not what one 'Darrell Ekland' told me. Not to mention the eyewitness reports of you two spending some 'alone time' in his car the other night." My mind had all gone blank, I just couldn't-I- this wasn't real, none of this could be happening, none of this did happen! I grabbed JewFro by the limp collar of his shirt and dragged him off to the side to the first refuge I could think of, the girls washroom. No one really paid attention to the little skirt-wearing figure on the door anymore considering the fact that both Kurt and Puck had spent an inordinate amount of time in there, for different reasons of course. Jacob, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early.

"Okay! Granted I'm partial to Mary-Jane and animal-sweater wearing Jewish brunettes, but if you insist…" yeah buddy, that makes two of us. I summoned up just about every little bit of Head-Bitch-In-Charge Quinn, because I knew I was going to need her.

"So I bet you're wondering what it'll take for me to not run this story, well I'm nothing if not willing to compromise on this, despite the fact that you've been looser than the neck of a thrift-store turtleneck these days. So… C'mon, JBI wants a little action." he urged, making these repulsive groping motions with his unnaturally small hands. He does have rat hands. And a rat brain as well if he thought he was getting anything from me. I backed him up into a corner, hoping that it would intimidate him, but all I got in reply was a reverently uttered 'wanky'.

"Listen you little rat, you may be perfectly fine with being a vehicle for everyone else's lies and gossip, but I refuse to let you ruin my reputation any more than it already is!" I snarled, pushing the boy against the wall with my fist against his throat. I tried with all my might to seem bigger and more intimidating than him. Where was Santana when you need her?

"What reputation? And anyway, it's too late for any bribery, since the post went live on my blog last night. For ALL of Lima to see…" now this idiot was trying to antagonize me. I growled in the back of my throat, shoving him harder into the wall and trying to keep the sadistic glee off my face when I saw him wince.

"Take. The. Article. Down. Or else I will have you hoisted up the flagpole and left there until the vultures mistake your sheep-like hair for some dead animal and rip it from your scalp." I snarled.

"Firstly, th-the internet is forever, I cannot take it down. Secondly, you don't have the weight at this school anymore; besides the baby-fat you've been gaining. No one's going to do your bidding anymore." He grinned crookedly, his skinny, mouse-like teeth bared in some sick form of happiness. See, at least when I took pleasure in his pain, I not only tried to supress it, but I certainly looked less creepy than him. Still though, I was fumbling for a comeback.

"Not to mention the fact that by threatening me, you're violating this school's right to freedom of the press. It's in the first Amendment, look it up." He chuckled, still looking slightly nervous. I wanted to sigh, I wanted to sigh and back away and once again admit defeat, but the squeak of a shoe against the floor coming from within one of the stalls reminded me that I still had to be hard-as-nails Quinn, for just a few seconds more.

"Get out of my sight JewFro." I muttered resignedly, shoving him towards the door. He stared at me, more like stared at my chest, longingly for a few seconds more before scampering out on his fleet little paws. I was of half a mind to check and see whether he had a scaly, hairless rat-tail hidden under his jeans, but that line of thinking just happened to gross me out even more. I leaned against the sink and sighed, I knew how this was going to turn out. The story would run, everyone would take to the hallways spreading gossip faster than The Plague (Another thing that originated from rats like Jacob) and I would sink from rock bottom, to buried somewhere deep below in the bedrock. The slushies would pick up in frequency, which I was dreading because I was already down to my last few handfuls of change, and I didn't want to have to choose between buying food, and going to the Laundromat. Because cutting either one of those things from my routine just wasn't going to work out well. I suppose I could get a job, but what employer would hire a pregnant sixteen-year old? But I'm going to need some sort of money to pay for the costs of y'know, living! If only my head would shut up.

"I'm starting to think you live here." A voice remarked, frightening me. I didn't have to look up to recognize it as Rachel. My heartbeat picked up the pace as I realized how close to the truth se really was. Combined with the normal elevation in heart rate that comes with me being close to her, and I was pretty sure that I would have a heart attack soon.

"I could say the same for you Berry." I muttered, refusing to look her in the eye. Along with the return of my intimidation around Jacob, came the slightest bit of the old-Quinn bitchiness. Rachel, of course, acted unfazed, like one of those stupid people at the zoo who try and pet the tiger. If one got too close or too bold, they were in danger of being devoured. Of course, then I started thinking about how devour-able Rachel looked right now, which I think was supposed to be a compliment, but was distracting anyway…

"Oh, I need to return this to you." I exclaimed softly, before handing over the perfectly-folded navy blue dress. One look at her current outfit, and I was thanking my lucky stars that I'd gotten the relatively-normal looking outfit. The dress Rachel was currently clad in was an off-white and covered in, what took me a few seconds to realize, was an jaunty red abstract pattern of… Barbeques? A little ironic for a vegan. Yet somehow it was still totally adorable.

"Oh, thank you Quinn." She replied, taking the neatly folded dress and tucking it into what I assumed was her emergency slushy clean-up kit. The skin on the tips of my fingers still tingled where her hands brushed mine, and I forced the thought away as I became aware of the awkward lull we were hovering in. She looked me up and down, a gentle, speculative gaze skimming over my wrinkled dress which was in need of a cycle in a washing machine, to the cardigan with the smallest fraying hole in the sleeve where it had caught against my car door this morning, to my limp hair that hung lifelessly around my face. Usually it wasn't so drab and oily, but I'd run out of shampoo this morning. Just another thing I couldn't afford.

"Are you alright Quinn? You look a little sick." She asked, her warm eyes coaxing me to meet her gaze without even trying. Perhaps I was sick, I'm not sure, now that she'd mentioned it, all I could think of was the uncomfortable churning in my stomach and the dizziness in my head. It was probably morning sickness, or stress, or maybe it was because I hadn't eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours…

"F-fine. Why would you care R-RuPaul?" I felt the words freeze up in my tongue and my throat, as if they couldn't quite communicate with my head, which was currently spinning like some sick carnival ride. Of course, insults, that old familiar friend I always fell back on when it came to dealing with Rachel. As soon as the words left my head and entered the world I felt ashamed, but nothing compared to how ashamed I felt about my current situation.

"Quinn." The uttered breathily, avoiding my gaze for a second before her eyes bored right into mine. Usually I found it soothing or comforting or even… attractive, when she stared at me, but this glance was tempered with the diamond-sharpness of the tears lingering in her eyes. Her beautiful little face scrunched up, her eyes squeezing shut as she fought with her whole body against her emotions, before unsteadily looking back up at me. In her duress she had grabbed a fistful of the quirky printed fabric of the skirt on her dress, and was squeezing and twisting it in her tiny, delicate fist. Somehow, as I saw her wrestle with all the awful things I'd made her feel, I swore I could feel her doing the same with my heart, squeezing and rending and clenching it, until all that was left was guilt. She allowed herself the second it took to compose herself, before returning to what she was talking about earlier.

"Why? Why do you hate me so much?" the words, as softly uttered as they were, felt like a stiff kick in the chest. It felt like the hand that had been wringing my heart like a dishcloth had torn it straight from my body.

"I don't!" I denied fiercely, shoving the words from my chest as fast as possible. My lungs ached at the exertion. Not to mention the fact that I'm pretty sure that's the lamest defense ever. Rachel didn't seem to take notice of that, perhaps it was too forced, since she just continued on with her pre-planned topic of conversation.

"I could have been your friend." My first response to that, mentally of course, was no. Not no because she's a 'Glee loser' or because she's RuPaul or Stubbles or Treasure Trail, or because she's annoying and loudmouthed. No because she's such a happy person, she doesn't need me dragging her down. I don't deserve the forgiveness she was offering.

"I still can be. You need someone, and I could be your someone." She offered, pairing her tentative words with an equally tentative grin, before backing away slowly. Rachel had climbed over the fence at the zoo, pet the tiger, and suddenly out of the blue backed off, remembering it was a wild animal, that a tiger can't change its stripes. Apparently I can't change my stripes either.

"I didn't sleep with him." I muttered as she turned to leave. I couldn't hold the words back, I felt just like I needed her, needed someone to believe me. All I needed was one person who didn't think I was some kind of school slut. Rachel stared at me with the same expression one might wear when they see their child knock over a vase. That sort of controlled disappointment, that look that uttered 'oh, I almost forgot that they don't know any better'. I wasn't exactly sure why she might be disappointed in me, but it was definitely disappointment. I'd been friends with Brittany long enough to pick up a bit of her intuitiveness.

"I know. It's just gossip Quinn, I wouldn't believe it unless you'd said it was true" She replied, with a sad smile on her face, the disenchantment stitched amid her satiny brown eyes shimmering against the light as she turned to leave. The warm halo which followed her dissipated just as quickly, leaving me alone and chilled, but with my senses sharp and crystalline. It started to make sense, that misplaced disappointment I'd happened upon. She saw the old Quinn. Not the Quinn who rained insults upon every loser in her scalding sight, not the Quinn who ordered slushy attacks in the same manner that an unforgiving dictator might order an execution, not the one who drew pornographic pictures of her on the bathroom walls (probably not my subtlest move) or the Quinn who instilled fear in everyone, or even the Quinn who hated Glee, but the Quinn who put her reputation and image first. The Quinn that created all those other awful parts of me. I mean, most people who go through what I do would end up undergoing some sort of change right? At least something more significant than needing elastic-waist pants. But somehow I'm still the same, the same old prickly, vain, fickle person whom I hated to the core.

**A/N heehee, I'm enjoying writing JBI a little bit… Oh, and Rachel's dress was inspired off one I saw at a local craft show recently, which I stared at for a few minutes until I realized it had barbeques printed on it. The first thing out of my mouth after that? "Rachel would so wear something like that." Oh, and secondly, I'm almost finished writing the next chapter (Which is heavy on the Brittana angst) but it's turning out to be really long. So, would you guys like it as one big chapter, or two shorter, faster ones? Please review, I'm like Tinkerbell, and Rachel, I need reviews to live!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N hello my dears! Now, I know that some people wanted a longer chapter, but after finishing with the 6,000 word monster, I thought it was just a bit too long, and here was the only good place to stop it. Meaning the one-sided Brittana-ness has been moved to the next chapter. This one's also pretty dark, but the next chapter (Which is still fairly long, despite being split in half) is going to start lightening up. Now, it won't be all rainbows and happiness, but life will perhaps take a break from beating on our poor Quinn, right? I have the next chapter all typed, I just need to proofread it, meaning I'll probably post it tomorrow. So don't let me forget about it guys! Enjoy!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, if I did, Brittany would be getting real storylines that didn't consist of a) funny, yet insignificant one-liners, b) asteroids/meteors/meteorites/comets c) the Rapture, or d) Lord Tubbington's many addictions to illegal drugs. Not that there's anything wrong with those, I just wish Brittany could be appreciated as more of a dumb blonde used for comic relief! Ok, mini-rant over, long story short, it's not mine!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Eight

The rest of the day passed me by with little ceremony, not that I really cared about any of it. People stared, people whispered, a group of freshman Cheerios even started pointing at me. Everyone had seen Jacob's blog post, everyone knew, and they all seemed to be taking delight in the evidence that I was just further self-destructing. Oh, look at poor, sad Quinn, once the reigning monarch of McKinley High, now just as desperate and as easy as some disease-ridden hooker. Did people ever get depressed from watching my slow decline? Will people finally gain some shred of humility and perhaps look the other way, at least give me the small grace of falling apart in peace? As I left my last class of the day, I ran into the last person I ever wanted to see again. Perhaps if I just averted my eyes and shrunk back into the lockers like a chameleon he wouldn't notice me? But those mosaic-tile eyes, brimming with a steely contempt quite unlike them, sought me out and pinned me in place before I could even bother. My limber, toned muscles became harder than rock, trapping me in one spot and refusing to let me escape the humiliation I was about to face.

"Why?" I whispered, averting my eyes as he grew nearer. For a few seconds before I had spoken, Darrell just stood there, observing me I suppose, or perhaps just staring at the mess he'd made.

"Because we're one in the same." He muttered softly, almost delicately. Something about his voice made my insides itch and sting, that reminder that I'd once trusted its owner. I felt sick to my stomach. He cleared his throat slightly, puffing his chest out in an effort to seem tougher and bigger.

"You'd do anything for popularity, including using me. So would I. I mean come on; all I had to do to get well-known here is say that I slept with you. And as you know, being well-known means you're popular. I'm the new kid, being popular is like, how you survive here." He gestured around at the dwindling crowd of students. "So what does it matter if I take advantage of you so clearly using me, and climb a few rungs on the social ladder?" he asked coolly, forcing a curved smirk upon his face, glinting like the tip of a blade. It seemed so unnatural upon his boyish face; the only thing that didn't make it completely unbelievable was his reasoning. Beneath all my hurt and rejection, I could understand where he was coming from, and why he did it, because if I was in his position, I probably would have done the same. That likeness made me fill with even more self-disgust than I thought possible, spilling over and staining my hands a guilty shade of red. Because I would have done that in his position, and I would have caused that much hurt to someone else if I had. I truly was an awful person. When I managed to pull my mind out from burrowing in my self-hatred, I only caught the yelp of his sneakers against the floor as Darrell turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway. I followed, not out of any desire to chase him, but because standing there frozen in my spot was just too painful. Moving like a ghost, floating from place to place without any real destination in mind, I slowly meandered my way to the front doors of the school. Yeah, I know that I have Glee rehearsals after school, but I sort of needed the open space, the fresh air. Even if that open space consisted of the school parking lot, and that fresh air was tainted by the smell of exhaust and cafeteria food. It took me a second to notice what was different over the raucous hooting and hollering as students filed out of the school, but suddenly it clicked into place. Someone was standing beside my car. Someone was standing beside my car with a well-worn tow-truck. A tow truck that was currently groaning and spouting rope to be hooked up to the back of my car. My livelihood, my home away from home. Without even thinking twice I bolted down the front steps, nearly twisting my ankle as I tripped down a few cracked stairs, and dashed across the parking lot.

"Hey!" I yelled, my voice as hoarse as sandpaper and somehow even louder than the disgruntled growling of the truck's engine.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" my dress fanned out behind me like a cape, blowing wind around my legs and making me feel ridiculously vulnerable. The man, wearing faded and shredded jeans, a baggy, sun-bleached t-shirt with a once-legible print of some sort of heavy metal band's name and logo, and industrial-looking headphones, gave me a confused look before grabbing for the chain.

"The owner of this car's stopped paying the bills, so it's gotta be repossessed." He muttered, a bored look on his sweaty, world-weary face. What does he mean paying the bills? I know I don't have money, but it wasn't even me that bought it! This car was a gift from my father, who was plenty rich enough to afford car payments. I mean, my father isn't the type of man to let things like these slide by unnoticed. No… he wasn't that type of man at all. He's the type of man who'd kick his own daughter out from under his roof because she got pregnant, and apparently, he's also the type of man who stops paying for said child's car, despite the fact that it was her only shelter available.

"N-no please, you don't understand, you can't take away my car! You can't take it away… I pleaded with the man, whose work jacket identified only as 'Cam'. No longer did I care that I was screaming and pleading and crying for the whole school to see, no, all I cared about was the fact that I was just about to lose yet another thing I so desperately needed to get by.

"Sorry Miss, but I'm just doing my job." He feebly excused, before continuing to hook my car up to the spiderweb-contraption of chains and cables and pulleys and hooks which would soon hoist it unceremoniously like a noose and carry it away.

"Please, you at least have to let me get my things first, please!" not to mention the fact that everything I owned, my schoolbooks, my clothes, all my belongings were stored in my little Honda. I'd be even worse off if I didn't own anything more than a change of clothes to my name. 'Cam' looked me up and down, staring at me warily as he judged whether to acquiesce to the pleas of a crazed, teary teenage girl.

"Fine. You've got five minutes." He gruffly muttered, stepping back a foot or two. Everything in this new life of mine had a time limit, as I was so quickly learning. Despite the fact that his voice was nearly sympathetic, and roughened up by years of either chain smoking or murderous yelling, the man's statement reminded me of what my father had told me the night I had been kicked out.

"_You have thirty minutes"_

Did I ever have any time anymore? Is this what growing up means, running out of time? I could practically feel the clock ticking in the back of my spine as I packed, deliriously shoving all my clothes into my Cheerios duffel bag while I wiped the tears from where they obscured my vision. I felt my stomach drop a little in self-pity as I realized that everything I owned fit into the bag, with space to spare. I literally had nothing. Everything in my life was spiralling out of control, flying away from my grasp, what have I done to deserve it? What's the point of trying any more, why do I keep fighting when the universe is content to repeatedly knee me in the gut over, and over, and over again until I beg for mercy? It all tracked back to my insecurity I suppose, if I hadn't been feeling fat that day, I definitely wouldn't have had sex with Puck, and I never would have gotten pregnant, and I never would have ruined my life! And I definitely wouldn't be feeling guilty for resenting that pregnancy for my ending up like this! I feel like such an awful person, essentially hating a child who hasn't even gotten the chance to live, but I can't do anything but lash out, and he-she-it is the closest thing to me, literally! No one else has to suffer like this? I'm sixteen; I'm practically a kid, up until 5 months ago I still slept with my little plush lamb keeping a watch over me through the night. My shoulders are too small for all this weight to carry, but why can't it hurry up and crush me already? Why do I have to keep slogging through each torturous day, participating in this loser's game known as life? Why, why was this happening to me?

"Q?" a familiar voice echoed within my empty, empty mind. The monosyllabic moniker dropped like a pebble into the turbulent shallow where my thoughts congregated like heavy, leaden summer rain, creating ripples that radiated to the very edge, disturbing every other whirlwind thought in my never-sleeping brain. I didn't want to stop though, or talk with whoever it was, I just wanted to go, to go anywhere and never, ever return.

**A/N I apologize for the insanely long author's note at the beginning, just popping in to remind you to review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I'm sorry this chapter's a day late, but everything's gotten pretty hectic in my life recently with homework, and projects, not to mention all the emotional shit I've had to deal with too. Let's just say it's been a rough week. But, I'm here now, and I come bearing the longest chapter this story's ever seen! I kept you guys waiting long enough! And just to clarify, this story is set just after Sectionals in Season One, because Finn knows about the baby being Puck's, but aside from that, I'm taking as much leeway with the canon as possible!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own the odd combination of genius and torture that is Glee, because if I did I wouldn't have to spend hours scouring the internet for Brittana and Klaine spoilers!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Nine

"Quinn? Why are you crying?" the intrusive voice continued prodding, somehow managing to make itself heard over the near-constant thunderous rumbling within my head, to the point where I could ignore it no longer. I looked up, finding the last person I expected to run into. A hardened, lean Latina in full red and white Cheerios regalia with a tight ponytail full of raven hair was standing before me, looking at me with a confused, cloudy look in her dark eyes. I was crying? Last I checked only living people cried, and I felt too much like a zombie, a hollow corpse to actually be alive.

"We-we have to get to Glee, we're reh-rehearsing." I insisted, pushing past her, half-bowling into her on my way. Perhaps I was delirious, perhaps I had gone crazy, but I needed something solid to hold on to, some sense of routine and comfort, and currently, Glee was all I had.

"Nuh-uh. You're a mess, and you sure as hell aren't going in there to have that flock of gossip-hungry vultures picking over you. Or even worse, having to put up with their incessant nattering and treacly idealistic singing. C'mon." Santana didn't give me any choice, looping her arm around my waist and practically dragging me into the first girl's washroom she could come upon. The forced chuckle I faked at her comment was a broken, cracking, drowning noise which sounded akin to a car's engine giving out. It was almost as if I'd forgotten what happiness sounded like. I couldn't tell, through my bleary, exhausted eyes, whether she was going to pick on me and make her usual incisive comments, or whether she was actually sincere. Of course, I didn't have much time to contemplate this, because the first thing she did was drop to the floor into a cross-legged sitting position, dragging me into a similar pose.

"Okay Q, so I know that things have been a bit weird recently, but we need to talk." Santana demanded in her usual bossy, domineering tone.

"Like hell I am. Since when do you talk?" I muttered frustratedly. She was a bitch, everyone in Lima knew that, and despite the fact that we acted like friends for the school, I'm not sure that we were ever really close. That's the thing about Santana; you never really know where you stand with her, whether you're just there for her own gain, or whether she actually likes you. She doesn't talk about feelings, and she comes off as the bitchy, manipulative type who'd rather use people for pawns than company. I suppose that's one of the things she and I had in common. Quite frankly, I was confused as to how she managed to keep Brittany so close.

"Since my friend performed a swan dive off the cliff of popularity in a social suicide attempt." She responded dryly. Geez, if Santana thought that this was the way to get anyone to talk, she's severely mistaken. Even the Dragon-Lady Sue Sylvester is better at getting people to open up to her, although that's usually because she threatens to pull her victim's teeth out, or bankrupt their entire family, or salt the earth in their yards or something of the like.

"Like we were ever friends." I scoffed, a part of me purposely trying to get a rise out of the Latina. Perhaps it was just my inner rage making an appearance, or maybe it was just some sort of sadistic glee at seeing someone else just as upset as I.

"We are friends. Because if we weren't friends, I wouldn't be sitting here on this herpes-covered bathroom floor, putting up with your shit. In fact, if we weren't friends, I'd probably be going all Lima Heights on your maternity-pant-wearing ass! So make up your fucking mind, do you want 'friend' Santana or not?" Santana pulled the hair elastic from her ponytail, letting her onyx hair cascade over her shoulders, and fixing me with a look that told me I wasn't going anywhere soon. The outburst of anger from the slim girl, I must admit, freaked me out a little. Santana's always struck me as the human version of a switchblade, easily hidden, but bloodthirsty and capable of killing at the flick of a wrist. There was no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't hesitate to beat my ass if I wasted her time, pregnancy or no pregnancy.

"Fine, we're friends, happy?" I scowled, relaxing myself into my position on the ground. I had a feeling that this would take a while.

"Peachy-fucking-keen." She muttered, eyes still blazing with unbridled flames of anger. I swore I even heard her growl under her breath, and a part of me suddenly realized why everyone else in this school is terrified of her. Heck, I used to be top bitch here, and I'm still half-certain that the feral girl would tear my throat out with her incisors the moment I let my guard down.

"So what do you want with me anyway?" As the vein in her neck stopped throbbing, and her nostrils stopped flaring heavily with each breath, I became less and less afraid of the Santana-beast and more and more afraid of the idea of telling her what had been going on in my life. What if she told everyone in the school and caused me to be bullied even more than I am now? What if she became so disgusted at how pathetic I was that she left me and never looked back, leaving me even lonelier than I am now? What if she told my parents that I… had a thing for Rachel, another girl, and they dragged me to some freaky bible-thumping-exorcist-camp? What if, as soon as I admitted to the great ugliness inside of me, the words themselves would just devour me like a hideous alien-beast? What if, upon breaking the unspoken 'Fabray Code' of not discussing feelings, the school spontaneously combusts as the world falls into complete chaos and destruction? Am I being melodramatic? I blame it on the baby hormones.

"I want to know what is going on with you so that I can get B to shut up about you and how she's worried about you. It's depressing." I was about to respond with a similarly acerbic comment, when I swallowed it away. Something about the way that the Latina's firm ebony eyes darted off to stare at the scuff on the floor to her left, or the forced, gritty quality of her words, or the over-dramatized way she gestured with her hands, made me wonder if she was even being truthful. Plus, Santana would never refer to Brittany in the same sentence with 'shut up', she could listen to that girl talk for hours. The other day in Glee while we suffered through Tina's solo, which wouldn't have been half bad if she hadn't started bawling five seconds in, Santana sat there with Britt for the whole meeting, listening to her scatterbrained diatribe about the inhumanity of leprechaun slave labor in Lucky Charms factories. Maybe that's Santana's code-way of telling me that she cares?

"I'm not just going to open up about my secret pain like I'm lying on a couch in some therapist's office." I mumbled. I didn't quite have the energy to fight with her anymore, but I wasn't giving in that easily either.

"Well then you must be pleased, since we're on the fucking bathroom floor, not a couch. Now talk, Fabray." She growled slightly, before shuffling uncomfortably against the tile to illustrate her point.

"Fine. Fine, you know what? Why do you deserve to know anything? It's not like you batted an eyelid when Coach Sylvester kicked me off the Cheerios for getting pregnant, or when my parents kicked me out of their house for no longer being their perfect little girl, or when Finn kicked me out of his house because I was stupid and lied to him. It's not like you were there to comfort me that night, when I walked the streets for hours, shaking and crying and realizing I had nowhere to live, when I had to move into the back of my car so I had a roof over my head. It's not like you actually cared enough to notice the fact that I lied about why I didn't have a clean change of clothes each day, or why I arrived here so early, or why I took extra helpings of food from the cafeteria to prevent me and my unborn child from starving to death. It's not like you seemed to notice the fact that I just kept shrinking in upon myself, that everyone in the school bullies me, that they lie about me and spread rumors, that no one cares about me, that I've been called a 'dirty whore' or told that 'no one would care if I died' so many times that I can't even count them. It's not like you just stopped caring like everyone else around me. But you did, didn't you? Because no one cares about me anymore." I snarled angrily, my words not managing to hold any of the venom which I was trying to convey. All I felt was hurt and alone and sad and broken. Like always.

"Quinn…" she trailed off, obviously taken aback at my admission, her eyes flitting away from mine briefly before she withdrew slightly with a humorless chuckle.

"Is that all?" she asked sarcastically, apparently unable to give up her impenetrable armor of cynicism for too long. She was just a hollow shell, all that hubris and hatred and caustic venom, and what was it guarding? Nothing apparently, no soul, no heart, no capability to empathize. Is this girl sitting in front of me even human anymore?

"I have a crush on Rachel Berry." I finished off, to answer her earlier, and probably rhetorical, question. I hardly even spoke it, the words more like slipping from between the gap in my lips, whisper-quiet, yet desperate to make their escape. As soon as they did though, everything around me just seemed to freeze, like one of those clichéd scenes in the movies where the prisoner escapes, starts feeling cocky, only to be pinned in place by the claw-sharp gazes of its captors, along with multiple spot lights for effect. In an instant Santana's bitchy mask was ripped away, and her face seemed wholly consumed in some massive conflict, a third world war even. My heart thundered in my chest loudly, practically shaking the room with each exaggerated beat, as I watched the emotions consume her. Anger, repulsion, fear, hatred, disgust, distress, each emotion seemed to overtake her face like a wave, only to be obliterated by the next one in line. Her hand disappeared from my wrist as Santana curled inward upon herself, making the isolation I was feeling glaringly obvious. This is what happens when you don't keep things in check, this is what happens when you show weakness to people. They find things within you to hate, to be disgusted by, and they leave you. Everyone always leaves me, my parents left, my popularity left, my friends left, my faith left, and now Santana was going to leave me too. She couldn't deal with me being… having feelings for a girl, so she's going to cut me off. Or worse, she'll tell everyone, it'll be horrible, I'll be picked on and teased even worse than I am for being pregnant! I mean, I've seen Kurt come to Glee visibly shaken, there are people out there who practically get high off his terror. I'm not ready for that to be me. Perhaps I can transfer, yes, I'll move somewhere where no one knows who I am, and maybe I can be on top there. But when news of this hits Jacob's blog, the entire country will know, the entire world! I'll have to change my name, or steal someone's identity-

The softest of whimpers yanked me from my panicked tornado of thought, and probably stopped me from blacking out due to hyperventilation. I waited for the blurriness to subside from my eyes, trying to discern whether it was me who was crying, when I realized that I hadn't made the sound at all. The invincible Santana was sitting in that same little ball on the floor, with silent tears brewing in her eyes. This was not happening. Perhaps I passed out and hit my head and this is just a lucid dream? Because Santana, ice queen, snake-hearted bitch, she-devil, does not cry. Like, ever.

"Santana?" I croaked confusedly, staring at the emotional Latina.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I will kill you Fabray." She blubbered, still not meeting my eyes. It was just a front though, her last attempt at defending herself before giving in. I nodded slightly, reassuring her that she was safe, or at least as safe as I could guarantee.

"Me too." She whispered, still not looking up at me. 'Me too', her too what?

"You have a crush on Rachel too?" I asked perplexedly. Jealously flared up within me as I thought about Santana having the same feelings for the petite diva, and I gritted my teeth to avoid lashing out in envy. A waterlogged chuckle broke free from the Cheerio's heaving chest, disrupting my jealous mental ranting.

"Hell no, that little loafer-wearing tranny's all yours." She scowled, and I made a sound of disapproval in the back of my throat. There was no reason for her to be so awful towards Rachel, and furthermore, her insults weren't even accurate ones. The diva's toned, lean legs, subtle curves, and luxurious silken hair were anything but resembling the physique of a drag queen.

"It's Britt." She continued, looking more ashamed than I'd ever seen her. I hadn't the slightest idea why though, I mean, everyone in the school knew that her and Brittany did… stuff. Mostly no one cared because all the guys thought it was hot, and because it wasn't a real relationship. They just looked like fuckbuddies to the rest of the world.

"But S, everyone knows about you and Brittany. She kinda inadvertently announced it to the whole of Glee over the phone a month ago apparently, remember?" I asked gently, sidling a bit closer to where she sat.

"It's more than just that. Everyone is only okay with it because they think that we just have sex, and they know that all it takes is a free trip to BreadstiX to get a threesome with us. But I think, no, I know, I love her." Santana sniffled through her tears, spitting out the last sentence as if simply stating that she loved the bubbly blonde was scary enough.

"Two weeks ago we were together, just after we…" the Latina trailed off in a manner quite unlike her. She never used to have a problem with saying that her and Brittany had sex, but now it seemed like it was simply too special, too intimate for her to share. It almost seemed like Santana had _feelings_ about it.

"She and I were just lying together, and Britt was playing with my hair, braiding it or something, and she just started talking. She just started telling me all about 'her world'. Not in the stupid cliché rainbows-and-unicorns crap that everyone else just assumes, but just how she sees things. She said how she goes there when the outside world gets too much, when she just wants to escape from all the people secretly calling her stupid. I thought I had been good enough at protecting her, I hoped she would never have to find out how people see her, but she just told me that she could 'read it in their eyes'." Santana became even more distraught at the idea that Brittany was so aware. It was as if the idea that the blonde knew what hurt, what pain felt like, was awful enough for the Latina. I had never seen her get so distraught over anything, but Brittany, she's obviously something special. It was almost laughable at how out-of-touch with her own feelings Santana was, that she was only now realizing that she loved Brittany, because from what I'm being told, it sounds as if her feelings were about as obvious as a firm smack in the face.

"She just talked, and talked about what it's like in her world. How there's no fear, no hate, no anger, no hurt, and that no one ever forgets how m-magical they are." A ragged sob broke her sentence in two, causing her to gasp for breath and sniffle jerkily before leaning against my shoulder. Her tears were soaking the shoulder of my cardigan, staining my skin below with their angst, but I was in too much of a worried daze to do a thing about it.

"And I just, I remember thinking how beautiful she was right then. Not how hot, or how sexy, or how attractive, but how heart-achingly, purely beautiful she was in that moment. Everyone thinks she's stupid because she doesn't know who the President is, or how many multi-valence elements there are on the periodic table, but they're all wrong. She's the only genius here, because she sees past everything. She sees past someone's looks, or their smarts, or the fact that they're poisonous bitches who are awful to everyone around them and don't deserve to be loved, and she loves them anyway..." I hugged her close to me with my one arm, trying to console the girl who, like me, thought she didn't deserve love. In this moment, sitting in the bathroom with the fractured remnants of my… Santana, I didn't care that I had nowhere to live, and that I was probably going nowhere in life. All I wanted was to comfort her.

"But lying there, with my head on her chest, listening to her heart, I couldn't help those feelings from taking over. It was like, there were so many feelings that my heart couldn't hold them all, that they couldn't be locked away and hidden any longer. I realized that I love her. And that can't happen." She finished, trying to stave off the body-wracking sobs which were shaking me with their force. I didn't even need to ask why, because I knew that she was afraid for the exact same reason I was. I suppose we can be afraid together, if that helps any.

"San, it's okay to love her, I mean, no one's going to treat you any differently." I knew in my heart that was a humongous lie, after all, we lived in the ass-crack-of-nowhere Lima, Ohio, where the most affectionate that two guys are allowed to get is when their football team wins a game. You couldn't find a more conservative place in the continental U.S. if you tried. If Santana suddenly announced that she loved Brittany, her life would be turned upside down and shaken around like a dollhouse in the hands of a frustrated child. But it was just sort of what you said in this situation, no one tells you that your life is never going to be the same again.

"Oh yeah right Q, if you believed that you'd be off frolicking in Berry's berry patch or something." I wrinkled my nose at her statement. It's not even like it wasn't even inherently dirty, just by the way she said it… God why does my friend have to be so crude?

"Not true!" I fired back, trying to fight the crimson blush spreading across my cheeks as I began to wonder exactly what 'frolicking in one's berry patch' was a euphemism for. Santana let out a vindictive chuckle at the sight, but contradicted herself by also reaching over to grab my hand. She wasn't even looking straight at me, so I couldn't see her eyes, but I could almost sense that those dark, enigmatic orbs were about as soft as they'd ever been. She sighed, shaking her head a bit, as if to clear a fog away from it.

"Okay Q, here's how this is going to happen." She announced, straightening up, and taking back some of her old toughness, but still refusing to stray from my side.

"You are never, ever going to tell anyone that I bawled like a little bitch-baby…" I tried to supress the thrill of surprise up my spine. Even her admitting to crying sounded weird.

"Not even Brittany?" I tested, dragging the Latina's hand−which was still linked in mine−into my lap.

"Britt knows. She always knows, she is a genius after all." I practically beamed at the admiration and euphoria shimmering within my tough friend's voice. Her adoration was infectious, the way she even said Brittany's name, it just made you want to love her too.

"But, like I was saying, you don't tell anyone. Another condition of mine, is that you get your skinny little ass off the floor, help me up, and then the two of us are bringing your shit and moving you into the spare room in my house." At first, once she said it, I couldn't believe it. I mean, it was sarcasm right? Because Santana just couldn't be offering me a home. She couldn't be offering me the one thing I was so desperately wishing for. It just wasn't possible.

"Santana…" I trailed off, searching for any little hint of fallacy upon her smooth, copper-toned face.

"Q, I've been a shitty friend, I've turned a blind eye on all this shit going on with you, because I've been so preoccupied with the fucked-up-ness of my own problems. But maybe, and I will kill you and your lizard-baby if you repeat this, maybe I need you as much as you need me?" I was unsure whether there was a continuation of that thought, because in that instant I swept her into a delirious hug. This just didn't seem real, Santana cried, and she's here for me, and I have a house, and she needs me… none of it made sense in my head. I may as well have been dreaming. My knees were shaking from exertion, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure that tears were spilling down my face, but it just felt so perfect.

"Thank you San, thank you, thank you, thank you…" I repeated like a mantra, burying my face in the Latina's thick ebony mane, momentarily musing at how my tears were nestled in among the black hair, sparkling like diamonds.

"Geez Q, don't start lactating or something." She muttered dryly, despite the fact that I could practically feel her smile from where her cheek was pressed against my neck.

"Now c'mon, we've gotz ourselves some moving-in to do!" she let out a shuddering sigh before picking up my Cheerios duffel bag and slinging it over her shoulder, cutting off my protests with a flick of her wrist.

"Nu-uh, I'm not taking my chances with you over-exerting yourself and popping that kid out in this bathroom." She scolded softly, hooking my arm through hers. I realized that Glee was probably over and done with at this time, so there was no point in trying to persuade Santana to stop by there instead of leaving. I really hated missing meetings, usually just because I hated the idea of missing the chance to see Rachel make those utterly adorable faces while belting out some brassy Broadway show-tune which I would end up finding unbelievably amazing, simply because it was her singing. Currently, however, I was complacent with shuffling out the front doors of the school, rambling on and on about the multitude of secret plans and tricks up her sleeve that she had to convince her parents to let me move in with them.

**A/N read it, love/hate it, tell me what you think! Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N hey guys, sorry for the delay in posting, but with the semester beginning to draw to a close, I've had piles and piles of projects dumped upon me recently. But I found a little time to put this together!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, if I did then Faberry would exist, and Brittana would never have been treated like a joke, and shoved to the back behind every other couple on the show.**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Ten

This was a new type of school day. I was walking through the hallways of McKinley energized, practically bursting with cheer. The people around me didn't wear disapproving glares; in fact I couldn't even see their faces. They just rushed past me like ants, scattering to keep up with their menial lives, perhaps running away from the fact that they'd be stuck here thirty years from now, stocking shelves at the local grocery store, or managing a Tractor Supply Company in the next town over. I however, was endowed with a new purpose, to go forth and do great things. I suppose this is how the wheat feels once it's been separated from the chaff, knowing that it shall go on to be… baked into bread or something like that while the rest of it was just left to rot. Not that I see my future having anything to do with bread-baking. I was unsure what was ahead, but the undeniable lightness within me told me I was doing something great. Maybe this is why Rachel always seems to bear that giant, shimmering smile, because she knows too, that she's destined for greatness. I wonder if it feels like this for her? Do the lights seem brighter? Does she feel the sunshine just bursting from every crook and cranny in this building? Does everyone else's pointless chatter sound like the whirring of the motor on an electric toothbrush, something so tinny and weak? I even feel taller, like I'm flying. Like I could just harness the lightness bubbling in my limbs and soar above them all. I tucked the soft, comforting fabric of my Cheerios letterman jacket around my neck, savoring the silky feeling against my smooth chin. I was back where I was supposed to be, I was home.

"Awww S…" a cheery, lilting voice exclaimed over the mindless drivel I was surrounded by. I couldn't see where it came from, but it sounded like Brittany. Perhaps her and Santana were just standing behind me, on my right and left shoulders, forming a triangle formation like an arrow to slice through the crowd.

"Shh Britt, don't get too loud." Santana piped in, her voice sounding strangely quiet and far away, like she was speaking into a pillow. Too loud? What does she mean too loud? I'm sort of confused now… the whiteness that seemed to pour from every brick and crack in the mortar only intensified; bleaching the floor a shimmering white that was so bright it almost hurt my eyes.

"But she's so cute…" the lightness in my body only grew, like I was a helium balloon that had slipped free of the hands of its owner, floating up higher, over the school, up into the white, skull-throbbing brightness.

"You're cuter Britt-Britt." I heard Santana coo softly, and a soft chuckle came from somewhere unknown. All I knew for certain now, was that this definitely wasn't reality. I suppose it was all too shiny and happy to be true. Plus I know that I can't fly in real life, and I'm pretty sure this is what flying feels like.

"Guys..?" I croaked sleepily, cracking my eyelid open to peer out, letting the outside world dispel any tendrils of cloying dreaminess. As soon as I opened both of my eyes, I was greeted by twin pairs of eyes shining with curiosity, one a sun-bleached blue, and the other a velvety, enigmatic brown.

"Hey Q, how are you feeling?" Santana asked, showing that still unfamiliar soft side she possessed. I rubbed at my eyes drowsily, supressing a smile at the 'aww' it elicited from Brittany.

"Like I was just woken up from the best sleep of my life by two people standing right above me, acting disgustingly lovey-dovey." I muttered, still half asleep, so I didn't really think through my word choice until I saw the horrified look on Santana's face. And when I said horrified, I meant horrified. She looked as if I had just fessed up to being the one who killed her puppy then FedEx'ed the corpse back to her months later. At this rate there's a better chance of me marrying Rachel then having Santana actually acknowledge that she had feelings for Brittany.

"We've got to get ready for school Britt." Santana reminded, wearing her cool, emotionless mask as she tugged on their interlocked pinkies. I felt the dullest thud of guilt to my heart, and regrettably, the smallest part of me started to regret talking to Santana. I confided in someone who was possibly, even more emotionally damaged than I am. That's saying something.

"But you promised me sweet lady cuddles!" Brittany protested, pulling the most cliché puppy dog face. It was almost hilarious to see how Santana's resolve melted away, like a chocolate in the warm hands of an overeager child. I looked around the room, letting the surroundings wash over me as I tried to figure out where I was. The black sequined throw pillow, faded posters all over darkened grey walls, clothing piled upon the chair, foot of the bed, and half of the makeup table on the other side of the room. I recognized a pair of earrings I had lent Santana lying among the clutter on the table, a familiar stain on the plush black carpet where we'd spilled blood-red nail polish in the middle of the night during a sleepover, this was Santana's room. She let me sleep in her room, in her bed, and didn't even complain. I underestimated how good a friend she is.

"Remember San, you said so. You said we could cuddle after I 'wake Q the Beached Whale afores her giant fish tail fuses to my bed.' Is it true Quinn. You really have a tail? Does that mean you're a mermaid Quinn?" I shot a faux-harsh glare at Santana for her strange fascination to likening me to a whale, before softening my gaze and turning back to Brittany.

"No Britt, no mermaid here." Something within her eyes lit up happily, confusing me even more. I thought she liked magic and all that. I don't know how Santana understands this girl, she seems to have the tendency to zig when everyone thinks she's going to zag.

"Good. Because that means you'd have to live in the ocean and I want you to stay right here with me and San." Brittany announced happily, laying down next to me and pulling me into an attack-hug, nestling her head in the crook of my neck, and snuggling up unfamiliarly close to my back. It was almost weird for me, having someone this close to me. Well let me rephrase that, it was weird having someone this close to me who wasn't trying to get me pregnant, but that was until I realized her ulterior motive.

"Kidding of course, I just don't want San to know I'm worried 'bout you. She always worries when I worry." Brittany whispered, the words almost too quiet for me to hear despite the fact that her face was right up against my ear. I tried to supress a smile, not wanting to appear as though she'd said anything because she obviously wanted to keep that little tidbit of information from Santana. She tugged on the Latina's wrist lightly, the muted light in Santana's room glinting off their matching friendship bracelets. With an epic eye roll, she acquiesced, letting Brittany pull her down to the free spot on the bed in front of me. Their hands remained linked, more than their usual pinky-clutch, with Brittany tracing small circles over Santana's tanned knuckles, and resting their interlocked hands over my midsection.

"Q" the raven-haired girl in front of me murmured.

"If you tell anyone that The Unholy Trinity cuddles-" I interrupted her, knowing exactly what she was about to say.

"You'll ship my lizard-baby back to its alien mothership, I know." I smirked softly, relaxing into the Santana-Brittany sandwich I'd found myself in. it felt good, in a weird way, to have them there. No one talking, or laughing, or yelling, just breathing and thinking and being together. The warmth on each side of me made me feel anchored, like I could tackle the things I knew I had to face. Like in this moment, I could ask Rachel out, tell Darrell to screw himself, and punch a great white shark in the face. Invincible. Yet in the same way, I felt sedate and calm. Finally, people were treating me like I wasn't a leper or an outcast. I belonged somewhere.

"And don't worry." Santana whispered, freakishly soft words to come from that razor-tipped tongue of hers.

"My mother might have an old potato sack or something for you to wear." As I found out when Brittany had finally had her fill of cuddles, a pastime she insisted upon calling 'Double Rainbow Cuddles' because 'it's like when Santana and I snuggle, but with Quinn too. So it's super special, like one rainbow, and another on top of that.' That 'potato sack' was actually a maternity dress her mother had purchased back when Santana's parents were trying for another child. It was weird to wear my friend's mother's maternity clothing, but it was new and clean and fit me fairly well, and didn't look horrendous, and most importantly, showed that someone cared about me. We entered the school in a weird inverse form of my dream, with Brittany and Santana decked out in their Cheerios garb, walking in front of me, the latter shooting scathing glares at anyone who looked my way while the other skipped along happily, inquiring to no one in particular as to what clouds tasted like. Once we reached their first period class, and determined it was probably a cross between vanilla and cotton balls, they were forced to break ranks and actually head to class. I headed on my way, passing through class to class relatively painlessly, before showing up to Glee. I was five or so minutes late, I had to run to the bathroom, but as soon as I approached the choir room I could tell something was up. Rachel and Finn were staring daggers at each other, shoulders squared and eyes narrowed like a cliché face-off from an old western movie.

"You can't seriously be doing this!" Finn bellowed from where he stood, towering over the petite brunette by almost a foot or two. A shrill shiver of fear for the petite girl shook through my spine until I saw her gather her deceptively massive presence, straighten her back, and prepare to rebut Finn's exclamation.

'Yes Finn, I 'seriously' can be doing this." She countered, throwing in the quote mark gestures for good measure. The rest of the Glee club was plastered to their seats, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of them. They, after all, were teen drama-mongers, this was like crack to them.

"But why? Why would you break up with me?" the tall boy cried plaintively, losing all his threatening presence in mere seconds, being demoted to whinging like a child denied sweets. I tiptoed around the fray, trying to get to a chair on the other side of the room, when Rachel's voice halted my efforts.

"Quinn. Is it true that Finn kicked you out of his house?" she swung around, eyes blazing with rage that I had never seen before in their chocolate depths. I knew she was passionate but damn… I can't decide whether this is unnerving or incredibly hot…

"Umm.. yes?" I answered cautiously, unsure as to what I was affirming. My stomach was seized with nerves at the tense situation, and I felt another dull ache in my lower back, causing me to stifle a groan.

"See Finn, that's why!" Rachel spun back around, allowing me to skitter over to grab a seat beside Brittany, whose eyes were wide as blue china plates.

"Because I kicked Quinn out for lying that I was the father of her child?! I had a right to be angry, she lied to me! And newsflash Rachel, you don't like Quinn! She's been nothing but awful to you all year, you can't be defending her!" Finn's nostrils were flaring, making him look like some sort of tomato-colored ogre. It would be hilarious if the scenario wasn't so tense.

"Hey Teenage-Mutant-Potato-Head! Lay off my girl Q or I will ends you!" Santana jumped up from her chair, nearly lunging across the choir room if it wasn't for Brittany holding her back.

"Stop the violence!" she cried innocently, just as Finn whipped his head around to address the Latina,

"Stay out of this Santana!" Rachel took a small step back, composing herself visibly, while rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"That's just it Finn. You kicked her out because she hurt you. You didn't show any care for the needs of your pregnant then-girlfriend and her unborn child, you were too busy being hurt. What was the last thing I talked to you about? Which movie did we watch on our last date? Contrary to your belief, I do notice that you never seem to listen to me, I'm not stupid. You only listen if it matters to you Finn; you only do anything if it affects you. You're selfish Finn, and that is why I'm breaking up with you." Her voice was calm and level, melodious even, and it would be beautiful to listen to if she wasn't upset right now. She cleared her throat and took a step towards him, her finger pointing right at the centre of his chest, inches away.

"And _newsflash_ Finn, I don't hate Quinn. Unlike you, I don't toss people aside if they hurt me once or twice. I believe in something called a second chance. And you just used yours up." She announced lowly, before whirling around in a streak of plaid, argyle and lustrous brown hair. Seconds after the classic Rachel Berry storm-out, Finn, who's reddened face looked akin to that of a constipated baby, spun around and stalked out the opposite door of the choir room, slamming it behind him, but not before kicking over a harmless stool in his fury. Before anyone could even comment on what had just occurred, Mr. Schuester strode in confidently, a notebook and an LP record tucked under his elbow, looking slightly bewildered and as always, late.

"Hey, we have rehearsal today, why did I just see Rachel storm out, and why was I almost run over by an angry Finn?" he asked confusedly.

"Just a normal day in Glee Mr. Schue." Kurt muttered sarcastically, his eye-roll echoed by that of Mercedes, who was sitting beside him with her gossip-diva face on.

"Mr. Schuester? May I go to the washroom?" I asked, sticking my hand up in the air before anyone could volunteer to go after Rachel. Sure, call me stalker-ish, call me overeager, and even call me a masochist, but I had to talk to her, especially after what just happened. A few people looked at me, buying my unspoken lie. Pregnancy had that upside; everyone thought you had to pee all the time.

"Sure Quinn, just come back quickly, and see if you can find Finn or Rachel. Regionals are approaching and we need all the practice we can get." Kurt, Mercedes, and surprisingly Brittany's hands all flew up at the mention of Regionals, everyone's eyes shining with ideas for solos or chances to showcase their talents. With the excited chatter, I managed to slip away, not caring about finding Finn, but I did have one person in mind to seek out. Rachel.

**A/N I was hoping to fit the Faberry interaction in here, but this chap just proved too long, especially with the Finchel break-up! Next chap for sure though, I've been dying to get their relationship on the road. I'm itching to write a first kiss… Reviews are loved!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N thank you all for your reviews, and I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, but exams are literally a week away so it's been all sorts of hectic over here! The only silver lining here is that as soon as exams are over, summer begins, which means day after obligation-free day to write to my heart's content!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee.**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Eleven

The weight in my pregnant belly was like one of those old-timey ball-and-chains that prisoners wore on their ankle to stop them from escaping. Or at least that's how it felt as I ran/waddled after Rachel. I used to be so fit, able to run circles around any Olympic athlete with Coach Sue barking at me to keep going. Now jogging ten metres down the hallway left me out of breath and gasping like a fish out of water. I realized I couldn't hear a damn thing over my footsteps and heartbeat and chain-smoker-esque wheezing. At this rate I'd sooner give birth in the hallway than find Rachel. I squealed to a stop, my ankle protesting as I landed on it wrong and my overburdened uterus crying in pain at the abrupt halt. It was an after-school Glee practice, so it's not like there were that many people here. It was eerie how quiet the place was actually. In between ragged, oxygen-hungry breaths I listened for any sign of life nearby.

_Breathe in._ The scraping of a tree branch against the window. _Breathe out. _The squeaky wheel of the custodian's cart as it was wheeled through the hallways. _Breathe in._ The cheery lilting voice of Ms. Pillsbury as she ran through her SAT prep course material in her usual caffeinated-chipmunk speed._ Breathe out._ The slam of a locker and the telltale sound of a chair skittering across the linoleum floor, an angry Finn for sure. _Breathe in._ The tinny, far-away sounds of Glee club running through vocal exercises, mingling with distant voices of the mock UN club. _Breathe out. _A thud coming from within the nearest empty classroom. I suppose that was the most promising option… I ducked into the classroom from which it came from, the Astronomy classroom. The Styrofoam planet models which hung from the ceiling cast peculiar shadows in the waning light, despite the fact that it was barely even five in the afternoon. It took me a minute or so to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light, before I noticed the blackish-brown head of hair facing the opposite way from me.

"Rachel?" I asked, immediately stepping back as I saw her flinch from surprise. She turned ever so slowly, her usually tan face appearing strangely pale in the dimness. Her eyes were the most prominent, midnight-brown orbs shining with the dying sun.

"I'm not going back in there right now." She insisted, turning away and crossing her arms in a cliché show of stubbornness.

"I figured as much." I sighed resignedly, unsure as whether I should take a seat or remain standing awkwardly. The sudden cramping in my left calf told me I should sit down before I fell down, but the thick awkwardness in the air between us told me I shouldn't. Perhaps I should have entered here with an actual plan in mind… I eventually decided to sit, taking the empty chair at the same table Rachel was camped out at. A slight pang of hurt rippled through my heart as I noticed the brunette scoot her chair a few inches away from where I was. I suppose I had given her enough reasons to be wary over the years, what with the bullying and the slushies and the mean names… the silence continued to cling, like blindfolds around us, but I was too hesitant to remove it. I didn't know what to say to her besides 'Congratulations on excising that giant-sized energy-sapping misshapen tumor from your life.' I doubted that's what she wanted to hear though.

"Why are you here?" she asked finally, turning her head to face me while still remaining a cautions distance away. Rachel's words weren't the soft, pleading, forgiving tone she normally used, but were frustrated, tired, sharp yet dulled like a worn blade.

"Because I wanted to be." I responded simply, unable to say much more than that. I mean in reality why was I here? Was I driven so mad by pregnancy hormones and weird crush-like feelings that I thought I could chase after Rachel and have her leap into my arms lovingly, forgetting that Finn Hudson had ever existed? Was I truly that delusional?

"But why Quinn? I thought you hated me?" she was frustrated, that became apparent to me. I could practically feel every muscle in her small frame vibrating under stress.

"I don't.." I sighed resignedly. I leaned a little closer, placing my hand near hers on the desk. Rachel, unsurprisingly, snatched her hand away from where mine was, staring at the offending limb with a look that was so harsh I'm surprised I'm not in pain right now.

"Well you sure act like it! I mean one day you're nice and the next day you're insulting me. And don't even get me started on the _years_ of torture you put me through, with the slushies and the bullying, the name calling… I try to be kind to you, because I keep telling myself that you're hurting inside, but I can't keep up with this constant hot-and-cold approach! This is the one thing you've put me through which I **can't **put up with!" she spat, her words cold and spiteful, and her body language oozing vitriol. I was shocked, frankly I didn't think the diva had it in her to be so spiteful. But I suppose she had a point, and I was crazy if I thought that I was above Finn. At least he didn't bully her in front of the entire school.

"I don't know why I…" I trailed off dumbly, unable to find the right words. This was quickly becoming less and less like what I had hoped would happen.

"You don't know." She parroted, every ounce of her pain palpable in those words as her face visibly fell. In frustration she shot to her feet, angry tears glimmering in her gentle, innocent brown eyes. The murderous screech of her chair grating against the floor made me jump in shock, kick-starting my mind as well.

"I'm stupid!" I yelled as her hand brushed the door handle, halting her in the last second. Her fingers traced circles upon the knob, before retracting it tentatively, which I took as a good sign. I had her attention, great, now what?

"I'm stupid and immature and petty and cruel and easily scared. I'm cold-hearted and resentful and I act before I think most of the time. I'm vain to a fault, I'm defensive, and I'm reduced to acting like a caged animal when I'm even slightly threatened. I let my insecurities rule my life, I'm directionless and lost. I'm everything you aren't and that's why I did all this. When I saw you on the first day of school you were so effervescent, so happy and free, so confident in your own beauty, and you weren't going to hide that. I saw all that and I was jealous of you, that's why I acted so awfully. As time went on you became representative of all the things I would never have, and I hated that. I started using you to tear myself down. Other people started joining in and I'd gotten in too deep. Now, now I've come to realize that, but there are some times when I can't help but revert to that stupid version of me, the one who'd rather smother your blinding light instead of admiring it." I stopped talking not because I was finished, but because my mouth was suddenly so dry that I wouldn't be able to speak for much longer. I ran my tongue over my lips roughly, trying to hide my nerves as the brunette remained facing the door.

"You admire me?" she asked tentatively, looking as if she thought she'd misheard me. I nodded desperately, knowing that if I opened my mouth and started saying why I admired her, I'd probably hang myself with the words.

"Say it again. Please?" Rachel moved away from the door and walked to stand in front of me. She looked smaller in her state of vulnerability, like I could just wrap her up in my arms and she'd disappear in the embrace.

"I admire you Rachel Berry." A ragged, desperate sob pried apart her pink, pouty lips as I spoke, and she fell into the seat she had just vacated, moving it closer to where I stood. Her face was contorted by conflicting emotions, and one of her hands came up to cover her mouth, as if to stop them from all pouring out. Tentatively, and probably regrettably, I reached out and touched her hand, holding loosely by her fingers so she wouldn't disappear.

"I admire the way that you walk through the hallways; shoulders squared and head high, ready for anything. I admire the way that you're always so sure of yourself. I admire the way that you are insanely, insanely talented. I admire the way that you dream so big, and I admire how motivated you are to fulfill those dreams. I admire your quiet strength, how you never let anyone get you down, I admire the way that you look so beautiful without even trying. I admire the way that you manage to be so generous to me, when all I've done is lie about you." I looked away from her face, instead focusing on where our hands remained linked, Rachel's tan fingers gripping mine a little tighter than before, and my paler thumb making miniscule circles on the soft skin on the back of her hand.

"Man-hands, Tranny, Treasure-trail, Dwarf, Hobbit, That Thing, RuPaul, Stubbles, they're all lies. I never meant them." I muttered, nervous to look up at her now. With each insult I spoke, even as I forced the words as far out of my mind as possible, trying desperately to avoid the fact that I was the cause of them, I felt the delicate muscles in Rachel's hand tense. Each one was a little more salt in the wound I suppose. She was shaking now, crying silently and I was unsure of what to do once again. Do I hug her and comfort her? Do I leave her alone? Do I just continue to sit here awkwardly and avoid eye contact? I reached into my bag with my free hand, grabbing the small, portable package of tissues I'd kept there once the reality of my hormone-induced crying fits sunk in. Opening it with one hand, I offered her one, yet she still remained frozen. I tentatively (and awkwardly, since I essentially had half a basketball stuck to my abdomen) pushed my chair an inch or two forward so I could dab at the tearstains upon her cheek. The action seemed to unfreeze her, as the hand that was once grasping her knee with white knuckles moved to take the tissue gently. As she took it though, she squeezed my hand a little tighter, a sign for me not to go anywhere. The silence was slowly killing me, as the only audible noise was the little gasping breaths Rachel would take on occasion.

"Quinn…" she trailed off, my name lost within the hiccupping sobs. This was another thing I admired about her, if I could say that without it seeming weird. She was so free with her emotions, if she was happy she showed it, if she was sad she showed it, she wasn't afraid to feel. She surprised me by pulling me into an embrace, an awkward one at that because our hands still remained linked.

"Thank you." she murmured, her normally loud-and-clear voice barely audible.

"Don't thank me, I made your life hell." I replied adamantly, my voice sounding terribly clumsy due to the fact that my throat was all scratchy with tears. I could hardly focus on what I should be saying or doing, because the sweet smell of her hair, and the silky feel of the brunette locks against my chin and sticking to my tearstained cheeks was far too overwhelming.

"Well thank you for coming after me then. And telling me that. It's not often that I feel admired…" she trailed off. She looked so small, so lost within herself; it almost made me feel grounded in comparison. Which is no small feat when you're someone who's spent the last few months of their life spiraling out of control.

"Well perhaps it could be a feeling which you could get used to?" I offered feebly, unable to spend a second more with her and still be considered her enemy. Rachel pulled out of our embrace, which had already been maintained much too long to be considered friendly.

"We could be friends. I mean there's nothing stopping us." I offered feebly, my voice sounding so thin and frail, unsure of myself perhaps? We were still outrageously close, despite the fact that the hug was over, but I was still close enough to count the long, luscious lashes on each eyelid, or to trace dot-to-dot patterns between the near-invisible pores on the warm skin upon her tanned nose and cheeks. And I was definitely close enough that my throat went embarrassingly dry and my cheeks were flaming pink.

"Why?" her voice was just as raw as mine, or at least so I told myself. She licked her lips apprehensively, and I couldn't help but stare as her pert little pink tongue skimmed over her full lips. Fleetingly, I wished that I could have her doing the same thing to _my lips_, but I immediately pushed that thought to the back of my mind. Sure I can accept that I have an attraction to the diva, but I'm definitely not ready for those type of thoughts. They're just too… gay for me to deal with currently.

"Because I'm sorry, and because I'll do anything to make that clear. Even if it means telling you how much I admire you every single day." I murmured, feeling the unusually deep timbre of my voice resound within my chest. I had never noticed, perhaps because I had never been this close to her, but her eyes weren't flat brown. Like everything else about her, it had so many different facets, and from close-up, I could see little golden flecks sparkling among her chocolate irises. Sparkling like stars, little gold stars in her eyes. Fitting. I could feel my eyelids drooping ever so slightly, and I swore that I could almost taste the sweetness of her lip gloss. It was only when I looked back up into those gold-starry eyes and found the slightest glint of confusion did I realize what I was thinking of doing. Did I realize what I'd done. No straight girl ever stares at another girl like that for that long. I recoiled in horror as the thought, noting how Rachel's eyes were wide and her posture was suddenly rigid with panic. I paused for a moment indecisively, my mouth hanging agape. I didn't just try to kiss her did I? I wasn't seriously thinking of it! It's one thing to have a crush, and to keep that crush and the associated crush-y feelings in a little box in the dark, locked away, never to see the light of day. But it is a complete different thing to actually attempt to pursue it! Actually pursuing it means that people find out and secrets see daylight and hearts get broken and I don't want to deal with that right now. Rachel was still sitting there, her posture similarly tense and confused, completely unaware of all the things taking over my head. My heart was racing and my lungs seemed to grow smaller and smaller as the room squeezed inward. Moving as gingerly as one would do when cornered by a homicidal maniac, I practically stumbled upon my own feet as I tried to get out of this choking room and run, hide, anything. Anything but face the truth.

**A/N I promise there will be more Quinn/Rachel interaction in the chapters to come, I just needed to set things up!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N I'm so sorry for the wait, but exams are over, so is school in general for now, so I have plenty of time to write! I've had this chapter sitting in my mental "Fanfiction Waiting To Be Written" folder for quite a while, so on the upside when I sat down to write it, it was really easy. Of course it ended up being huge in comparison to what I had planned, but I doubt that's anything to complain about! I'm hoping to write and post the next chap soon, as well as add some more songs in here, because this is a Glee fic after all. Glee without music would be… I'm not even sure!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Twelve

I found myself sitting in a little nook in Santana's house, staring with glassy eyes out through the window in front of me. The young Latina was at a Cheerios practice, so I was alone except for her mother and the fish, Alanis and Diabla, in the tank against the wall. Her mother had already come up to see me, her elegant, calm energy gently probing to see what was wrong. Of course I denied that anything was wrong, but it wasn't very effective. All that got me was a faux-stern reprimand to call her Mama Lopez or Maribel instead of Mrs. Lopez, a concerned kiss upon the forehead, and a steaming hot cup of tea upon the table beside me. I watched the family across the street as their kids played with a soccer ball on their front lawn, kicking and rolling it about, without the worry of aiming for any goals. I kind of wish life was like that. A little towheaded toddler with a belly rounded like the back of a spoon and filled to the brim with giggles waddled after the black and white ball, practically falling over it in his glee once he caught up. He fell onto his diaper-padded bottom, smile hardly faltering, as his older sister zigzagged in front of him, sweeping the ball out of the way delicately with a twig-like limb before dribbling it away, across the lawn, dancing upon gangly, long legs like a baby horse as she twirled awkwardly in a flash of strawberry blonde hair and lime green skirt. They looked so happy and free. I traced circles upon my small bump absentmindedly, trying to imagine my child doing things like that. Laughing, running, playing, growing up. It was jarring, like a glitch on a movie where you start watching the characters begin their journey, and it freezes momentarily, crackles, and jumps ahead to the part where they're fighting some giant, three-headed beast with swords for teeth. I couldn't quite discern what would happen in that middle part. It just didn't seem to fit, I couldn't quite reconcile that this little bump on my abdomen would eventually giggle and dance and go to school and make friends. It was all too extraordinary, and perhaps a little weird. It all sort of felt similar to standing at a magic show and listening to the magician tell you all that's going to happen, and though everyone around you is excited in anticipation, but you can't help but be skeptical. It's all too extraordinary to actually happen. My eyes were starting to blur from staring at the kids, and I couldn't tell whether it was from emotion or simply the fact that the glare of the sun made me squint awkwardly. I refocused my eyes upon the fish tank nearby, where San's pet fish swum their little circles. The pet choice kinda made sense, I mean, Santana doesn't have a caring bone in her body aside from when she's around Brittany, and even that seems to be waning nowadays with her desperate pursuit for self-preservation, so the idea of another living thing depending on her to live seemed a bit outlandish. But Brittany was that one exception that made all the other little touches fit, like the fish. Living and dependent little pets, but not so needy or cuddly that Santana can still deny the fact that she cares about something. They swam about, weaving through the fake seaweed and occasionally snapping at the other, parading about their flashy fins. Alanis, the one with the silver sides and black tips on her ragged, banner-like fins seemed to be chasing Diabla, an all-red fish with similarly extravagant decoration, angered for some random reason. I suppose that would be frustrating, living all cooped up, sharing your whole life with another being who, try as you might, you can't avoid for long. It sounds a lot like my own life. I just watched them spiral around each other, pretending to hide behind false rocks or plants before inevitably running into one another.

"I feel ya." I murmured, staring through the tank and letting my eyes glaze over, just watching the colored splotches that the fish had become move in their cyclical motion through the tank. Over and over and over until I started to worry that I might be getting hypnotized. Until the red Cheerio skirt that suddenly invaded my field of vision scared the living daylights out of me.

"Holy shit!" I lurched forward, snapping back into reality and nearly falling off the couch I was sitting upon.

"I was expecting a hello, but sure, that works too." Santana grumbled, hands on her hips as she stared with frustration at where my feet were laying upon the last spot on the seat.

"Sorry, you startled me." I blushed noticeably at having reacted so violently, wanting to move my feet before she burned them off with her laser-like stare, but also incredibly comfortable and wanting to wallow in self-pity at my screw-up today. Wallowing in self-pity didn't require acquiescing to Santana's wants.

"let's hope this is the pregnancy hormones or some shit, because I'm not sure how I can handle you living here if you're going to freak out every time a door slams or someone walks by or a toilet flushes." She mutinously mumbled, running her fingers against her pony-tailed hair in obvious frustration. I suddenly wanted to apologize for being such a bother. After all, Santana didn't have to open her home to me for god-knows-how-long.

"S-sorry." I whispered, secretly trying to keep a hormone-induced fit of tears at bay. The Latina stood there for about half a minute more, her foot tapping impatiently against the ground, before she just whirled around and left. Weird, I guess. Did I insult her or something? By apologizing? Or had she just hit her quota of 'Quinn Issues' for the day, because it had barely been a minute, and half of it was her waiting for me to clear her a seat. The tinny, far-away giggling and shrieking was gone, so I guessed that the kids went inside for a snack or something. A howling bark of a dog resounded through the quiet street, quickly followed by an angry 'Shh!'. The fish were still being fish. Alanis swum more circles, brushing through the same fake seaweed while Diabla stared at herself in the glass. She seemed to hover there for a second, looking about as thoughtful as a fish could possibly be, before suddenly ramming herself against said aforementioned reflection. Stupid bitch. Even for a fish. But that was harsh… even for HBIC Quinn Fabray. Santana returned just as I was debating whether I should apologize to her fish for mentally insulting it, wearing a low-slung loose pair of grey sweats and a formfitting purple tee. Her hair was wet and was sticking against her shoulders and neck. She grabbed my feet at the ankles and pulled them upwards, causing me to yelp and clutch the edge of my dress to stop it from flying up.

"Okay, here we go," she grunted, probably biting back a snide remark about my extra weight. My ankles still in hand, she plopped down onto the spare spot on the couch and-surprisingly-laid my feet across her lap gently.

"All I know about this is that I came home to my mother telling me that you're being all 'distant and sad'," she spoke casually yet softly, adding in finger quotes around her mother's words, "and when I get home I find you zoned out and staring at the fish who, despite my giving them kickass names, aren't the most riveting thing ever. And I find that my mother is true in saying that you're being 'distant and sad' because it's written all over your face. So talk." She prompted, firmly yet kindly at the same time, while casually rubbing at my ankle, which was still stuck between her hands. A part of me was still in disbelief that she wasn't beating me up for taking her spot on the couch. Another part of me was in disbelief that she even wanted to talk about feelings. Who abducted my Santana and replaced her with one who was all touchy-feely?

"You hate talking about feelings." I pointed out obviously. The Latina simply rolled her eyes in response, letting out a frustrated huff of a breath as she stared back at me, her expression dry.

"Exactly, and if you weren't my homegurl Quinn, I would probably be all about beating yo' bloated white ass for taking my spot. But I'm here now, and despite my apparent hatred for anything emotional or remotely human, I'm waiting for you to talk." I overlooked her terrible attempt at sounding tough, because no matter how many times she screams it, along with a mélange of other Spanish expletives, at a cowering freshman, she has never lived in Lima Heights Adjacent. Her parents didn't even come from Lima Heights Adjacent. Frankly, I'm not even sure it exists… do we have a wrong side of the tracks in Lima? Do we even have tracks? I couldn't help feeling a little hurt at how she phrased that though. Did I make her feel like she wasn't capable of human emotions because she acts so tough?

"San I'm sorry-" I was promptly cut off when she waved her hand in a 'just shut it' gesture.

"Just tell me what's wrong before I 'forget' that you're knocked up with your mutant reptile-baby and strangle you out of frustration." I sensed by the slight serrated, ragged emotional edge to her words that she wasn't going to give up on this. She was strangely desperate, and I supposed that there was something else going on here. Because it's still an extremely foreign thing for Santana to be this stubborn about anything feelings-wise, unless it's avoiding them.

"I nearly kissed Rachel." I blurted out, hoping it wouldn't hurt at once if I said it really fast. It wasn't exactly accurate. Santana, if she was shocked, didn't show it. She just kept on staring forward and making that little stroking motion against my ankle. I couldn't tell whether it felt good, or whether it was just creeping me out.

"You almost kissed ManHands Berry? And what do you mean by nearly?" I growled audibly at the mean nickname, before shooting Santana an angry glare.

"Santana." I warned, in that ubiquitous tone used upon misbehaving toddlers and best friends who have crossed the line worldwide.

"Fine, geez cool your hormones Preggo! So what do you mean by nearly? 'Cause kissing is kind of an all or nothing deal." I thought her nickname was a little too close to the name of a brand of pasta sauce, but I decided not to comment on that.

"I dunno, we were super close, and there was a look…" I vaguely explained, unsure as to how to describe it.

"Well damn, that's descriptive." She muttered, making a little growly disapproved-noise in the back of her throat before attempting a new approach.

"Would you want to kiss her?" she asked bluntly, catching me off guard. Now, did she want the truth, or did she want me to tell her the lie that I desperately want to believe? I got a subtle nudge against my ankle as a cue to keep talking.

"Yes...?" I murmured tentatively, rolling the single syllable, the letters, the sounds, against my tongue, feeling how they seemed to collide and slip about like marbles. Frantic little noises that, when released didn't make as many ripples in the real world as I had worried.

"Well that wasn't so hard." Santana murmured under her breath, probably not even intending for me to hear. It was almost as if my hesitation was a chore for her, an obstacle she had to surmount. A part of me wanted to snap back at how she should deal with her own hesitation around her 'relationship' if the lopsided affair with Brittany while continually lying about her feelings could constitute a relationship, before judging my own.

"Apparently it is." I responded wistfully. I let that little passive-aggressive part of me take the wheel and control what I said. I hoped I just wouldn't regret it.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean Fabray?" she spat back, flinching as if I'd struck her with a white-hot branding iron. As if she were seconds away from looking for the wound the words made when they impacted her.

"What I mean is that you're being a hypocrite! Take a look at your own relationship, if one can even call it that without scaring you back into the closet!" as soon as mentioned closet she stiffened like a two-by-four, frantically shushing me like someone would hear. I doubted Alanis and Diabla really cared, as the latter was still smacking herself against the tank wall in a blatant show of idiocy, and Alanis watched her from the safety of a particularly thick clump of plastic reeds. I swore I saw her do a little eye-roll. She's definitely Santana's fish.

"Rachel and I are barely even friends, and I have no illusion of us progressing past that stage in the near future because I wouldn't want to string her along. I'm already in the middle of figuring myself out; I can't worry about protecting the feelings of another person! But you, you can't look in the mirror and see that what you're doing with Brittany is worse! You tell me you love her, ME, not her, and you tell her that you two are just 'friends who talk with their tongues really close'. I mean you're stringing the poor girl along with the hope that you may be able to surmount your growing cowardice and actually treat her as she deserves, but in the meantime? It's cruel what you're doing Santana, Brittany deserves your honesty at the least. Don't you think she has her own feelings about this? And don't you think that it might hurt her each time you claim to be 'friends'? You're essentially telling her each time that her feelings mean nothing to you." I ranted, chest heaving as I flung strings of words at the Latina, who had gone stock-still. Part of me was just trying to deflect my own anguish, but most of this came from a place of true concern. I'd seen Brittany recently, and I could just tell something was a little off. Maybe it was the vacant look that seemed to occupy her blue eyes more and more often, maybe it was just the general aura of lost-ness I got whenever I was around her. Santana was trying to protect herself yes, but at the cost of this sweet, simple, slightly-impressionable girl's feelings. And it had to stop. I was the person who would be most likely to convince the Latina to do something, considering the fact that I was the only one she seemed to give two shits about these days.

"Don't, please don't" she almost whimpered, suddenly avoiding my gaze and crossing her arms over her chest, a clearly defensive gesture. Everything about her body language screamed 'leave me the hell alone'. Her eyes were squeezed shut so hard that you could see the tension all the way down her neck. It was as if she could physically put up a shield to avoid the words.

"I have to Santana! Because you can't keep going like this, you can't, and she can't. You always go on about how Brittany's a genius, and you'd rip someone's throat out if they said otherwise, but have you considered that, by putting so little weight upon them, you're calling her feelings stupid? You're bullying her into this state of silent in-between-ness where neither of you can talk about it. Brittany because you won't let her, and you because you won't face the truth." I finished my little soliloquy with a resigned breath, a little winded after talking so furiously for such a pause-less time. Santana on the other hand, was a bit of a mess, with delirious tears staining her cheeks and her breaths rushing in and out of her throat in little desperate snatches of air. Perhaps I was a little too harsh…

"I can't Quinn, I can't do it!" she cried, the words hardly audible over the coughing and groaning noises she was making that accompanied her maniacal sobs. I wasn't quite sure what to do with Santana now, I mean I'd seen her cry before and that was surprising, but this was just plain foreign territory. She was practically screaming with each wave of tears, making this thin reedy noise when she breathed or attempted to sniffle. Note to self, do not talk to Santana about Brittany…

"You need to do something San, and soon." I nearly whispered as I uneasily gestured for her to move so I could try to hug her, or comfort her, or something of the like. I couldn't quite move around my small baby bump, and having my feet on top of Santana's legs made for some awkward angles I'd have to overcome, if only to get from a lying position to a sitting position. As soon as my feet were off her lap though, and I was about to celebrate my small victory, Santana was on her feet, wiping at the tearstains on her cheeks and choking back the rest of them.

"Santana?" I asked, just a little worried by the spaced-out look in her eyes. She looked like one of those crazy killers on a mission that you see on the TV crime shows.

"I'll-um-I'll go make up the couch, you can have my room tonight too." She offered, shifting her weight between her feet so she bounced on the balls of her feet nervously. She looked a little insane now. She ran a trembling hand through her now-dry raven hair, inadvertently fluffing the thick locks and making her look even more disheveled. It was hardly 8 o'clock, still a little early to sleep, especially since none of us had eaten dinner yet. But one look at the Latina told me not to argue, to just let her sleep and to make an excuse to her mother during dinner about tiring cheer practices among our slightly-awkward conversation we were bound to engage in. with all the swiftness that I could possibly embody, I lurched to my feet and, driven by my worry, remorse, and empathy for the emotionally wrung-out girl, I flung my arms around her neck in a desperate embrace. Her chest was quivery and ever-moving against mine, and she tried to escape the hug for a few seconds, but I hung on. It wasn't until I felt her arms wrap around my back to squeeze me against her and her nose press against the crook of my neck while she attempted a few calm breaths, that I relaxed a bit. I was unsure whether the newfound dampness upon my shoulder was from her previous crying fit, or new tears. I heard her give a little hum though, and that was my cue to slowly weave my way out of the embrace. She fixed me with a fleeting look, enigmatic and difficult for me to interpret, before she practically vanished down the hall. She was gone so fast that my arms were still extended in an empty hug. I was left alone with nothing but arms full of emptiness that was quickly being filled by remorse and confusion and shock and worry. All the emotions I couldn't quite trap in my head.

**A/N please review, tell me what you thought! And what is that Santana up to now...?**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N two chapters in one day (sort of) I'm on fire! This chapter is pretty light on actual Faberry interaction, but of course Rachel is always on Quinn's mind, when is she not? Heads up, the next chapters or so will have way more focus on Faberry though! I'm already looking forward to writing them! Enjoy reading, and please review!**

**-Nightshade**

**I don't own Glee, not even a little, tiny, eensy, teensy, weensy bit!**

Schadenfreude

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, Santana was also eerily quiet, not silent though, she did make conversation despite it being thin and trivial, but one could tell she just wasn't really there. I was slightly preoccupied, because I had the intent of getting my Glee project done today, performing my solo, and I kept running through lyrics in my head. I hadn't planned any choreography or anything, since all we had to do was sing something that spoke to our current emotions. Of those, I had plenty. At least Santana's personal drama gave me something else to focus on. Or perhaps it reminded me that everyone has their issues, and that I wasn't the only person's life which kinda sucked. Though I must say, Santana can't start comparing until she gets knocked up too. Speaking of the Latina, she happened to slip away before first period, giving me nothing but a somber facial expression and a little nod. She usually walked along with me to my first period class, making sure to shoot evil glares at anyone who might be ogling my baby bump. It had sort of become our little routine, and it was a little alarming to see her change it. The day's classes went by with ease, the only thing really bugging me being Santana's odd behavior. I had seen her during the day coming out of the washroom and I could have sworn that she had tears in her eyes. The day had also been peculiarly short of Rachel sightings, which worried me for a whole other reason. My God, what if she didn't come to school so she could avoid me? It wasn't like I had actually kissed her, but it was obvious I'd wanted to, right? I'm pretty sure that almost-kissing someone after apologizing for the years of bullying you instigated and offering to be friends, is not the thing you do when you don't want to make people uncomfortable. What if she decided to transfer schools to get away from me and my lesbian-teen-pregnancy-failure germs? What if she moved out of the state… or the country?! When Santana told her to move back to Israel, surely she was joking, right? Rachel knew she was joking! Plus, what am I supposed to do without her? Oh God it's too early to be having those type of thoughts, but how am I supposed to get through the day without any of her longwinded rants and her diva fits and those tiny, incredibly sweet little gestures she does that makes all of those things bearable. I can't have any of that if she moved to Israel! This is a fiasco…

"Quinn?" the person beside me asked. Oh right, Math class, that's where I am. I turned to find Brittany sitting there, staring at an equation on her paper (written out in rainbow-colored gel pens, of course) with a frustrated expression.

"Yeah Britt?" I asked, shifting awkwardly and trying not to bump against Finn, who sat on the other side of me and who refused to acknowledge my existence since I told him the baby wasn't his. Just a little immature of him, but I did lie to him, so I suppose I shouldn't comment.

"Umm…" she looked like she was going to ask me something important, not that Math wasn't important, but something Santana-related.

"… Um, how do you solve for x?" she asked, obviously hiding something. Her voice cracked a bit as she spoke, and she wasn't smiling or bouncing about like always. There was a little wrinkle in between her eyebrows where they were furrowed so tightly, and she gnawed upon her lip to the point where I worried she'd make herself bleed. One thing about Brittany, is that she's sensitive, and she doesn't deal with stress very well. She can wrangle the most unruly Santana, or she could defuse an argument brewing in Glee with one of her clever one-liners to make everyone giggle, but that was all her removing stress, defusing arguments. It's hard to defuse an argument when it's happening inside of you. So all these little external tics were the result, the lip-biting, the tensing, the pitter-patter tapping of her pen against the book's pages which made Finn glare like the asshat he is. I sent another glare back at him before returning to ignoring him completely and focusing on Brittany. She was practically vibrating by now.

"Well, to solve for x you have to get it all alone on one side of the equal sign. So since that's the only variable there, you can multiply both sides by two since the whole equation is divided by two on the one side…" I watched individual blonde hairs in her ponytail quiver as I looked over the blonde's shoulder to see her paper. Her hands were clenched in fists, the one becoming a pinked bony knot of fingers around a purple sparkly pen which she'd been using to divide out the two as I'd instructed.

"… next you can carry over the plus two and the negative three, just remembering to switch signs…" I murmured, watching as the pen in her hand tried to replicate what I'd just instructed, but the numbers came out all shaky and she forgot to put the negative sign in the right place. In her frustration she scribbled the entire question out, covering half the page in angry purple slashes, some carving straight through the paper. The sparkles and happy color seemed so ironic now. It wasn't until I saw a plus sign, which happened to escape the carnage, begin to distort from a droplet of water that fell upon the page, did I realize Brittany was crying. The violet ink dyed the tearstain a peculiar lavender color, and I heard the sweet girl make a worrisome strangled noise.

"Britt…" I whispered, trying not to make her breakdown of unknown origin obvious to the entire class. But as soon as I shifted my hand upon her shoulder she sprang out of her seat, knocking the chair over and making a thunderclap of noise. She didn't seem to notice, as the athletic Cheerio nearly vaulted over the desks and bolted into the hallway, not waiting for the teacher to even blink. I stood up to follow her, but the old, stout, round and wrinkly woman, Ms. Hagberg, I think was her name, stood up from her desk to face me.

"Only one person allowed out of class at once Miss Fabray, and unless your water just broke I'm not making any exceptions! Besides, from the looks of it Miss Pierce will be a while." I heard mixed snickers from behind me, and I couldn't tell who they were laughing at, her or me. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and I realized it didn't matter. Class ended soon after, and since Brittany's grand exit people refused to shut up about it. I realize why Santana's so on edge all the time, I mean, look at what morons she has to deal with? Caringly, I packed Britt's stuff back into her backpack, not the red Cheerios standard one, but a black square-ish thing with pink straps that matched Santana's, before heading to Glee. After all, I could give her back her things there. I filed into the room, carrying both bags and scanned the room. I didn't see Rachel, which almost confirmed my guess that she left the country, until I reminded myself that it was an insane idea. I'm pretty sure I was going insane, and it was only a day without seeing her. Goddamn I'm so screwed… But, she wouldn't stray too far from her beloved New York anyway, so Israel's definitely out of the question. I can rest easy knowing that Rachel Berry is within the boundaries of the continental U.S.A. My heart immediately sank at the realization that she wasn't there, that the chair up front and center in the choir room which she normally occupied was empty, and not because I had a crush on her. Well, that's only partly true. I missed the fact that, if she saw me walk in here carrying two heavy bags she would have immediately launched to her feet to grab them both before I could even try to protest, all the while playfully yet concernedly lecturing me about how pregnant women shouldn't overwork themselves. She would then offer me her chair, simply because she insisted I didn't have to walk up the risers to get the unoccupied ones up top. I missed all the little ways she showed that she cared, no one else did that. I think that was a part of the reason that this crush I had on her was so… all-consuming. Because anyone can be pretty, and it's easy to become infatuated with someone who's pretty and that's it. But she's pretty, no not pretty, freaking gorgeous and adorable and heart-meltingly cute and sexy somehow at the same time, but above all, unbelievably kind. She has a heart made of gold, or gold stars, knowing her. Once I took a seat I realized that most everyone was there, and those who weren't seated were trickling in. I heard Kurt, Tina and Mercedes discussing the newest issue of _Vogue _from where they sat behind me_,_ complete with Kurt's official commentary on every ensemble. That was normal. The guys all sat in a loose knot, in a deep conversation about their next official New Directions Dudes _Call Of Duty_ tournament. Nothing new there either. Finn sat up front like a loyal puppy, waiting for Mr. Schuester while wearing his patented Gassy Infant facial expression. Same old, same old. Brittany and Santana were sitting on opposite sides of the choir room. Definitely not normal. They usually curled up together, practically spooning in the back row. Now neither of them even chanced a look in the other's direction. Right on time, meaning about five minutes late in Schue Time, Mr. Schuester strode cheerily into the classroom, seemingly unaware of the tension that was practically electric in the air.

"Okay New Directions! Who's up for the next solo performance?" I was tempted to raise my hand, but we were all floored when the usually passive Brittany raised hers first. I'm pretty sure this girl has never had a solo in her whole time here, and most of the other New Directions had pegged her as 'just a dancer'. I'm pretty sure I just heard Mercedes gasp and Kurt whisper something along the lines of _"Oh my Versace…"_

"Alright then Brittany, take the stage!" Mr. Schue, almost painfully ignorant, encouraged everyone into a tentative and off-beat round of applause as the skittish blonde strode over to where the microphone was standing. She sent a quick glance over to where Santana was sitting, who was completely obviously avoiding her eye line, staring off up at the ceiling. Brittany rocked back and forth upon the balls of her feet for a second, and I heard Puck whisper,_ "she's totally gonna choke."_ to the rest of the guys, earning him a cuff over the head from Mike and a huffy snort of disapproval from Artie. He whimpered an apology seconds later. Brittany cleared her throat a little, her breathing whispering over the microphone before she started singing in a light, soft, quiet voice.

_I found the fox in the woods  
she was cold and hungry  
I gave her all that I could  
I was sure that she loved me  
and we were thick as thieves._

I knew as soon as I heard the emotion in her voice, that the song was about Santana. Something about her melancholic, slow vocals sent goose bumps prickling upon my forearms. Everything about the number, from the raw vocals, to the minimal lighting-a single spotlight on the blonde, to the sole accompaniment of a lonely guitar, served to make the performance more intimate and emotional. I didn't know Britt was such a talented performer. I looked over at Santana, who was straining her neck muscles with the effort not to look.

_Through the winter I kept her warm  
fed her all she desired  
when she told me in so many words  
I was the one to save her life  
and she would never forget  
and I would never be left._

I heard her voice tremble and nearly crack on the last line, and it made the performance all so real and even more emotional. Of course, it didn't compare to one of Rachel's performances, particularly that raw, unrehearsed rendition of_ Other Side Of The World_ which she did a few days ago. But then again, I supposed I was a bit biased. Plus that performance was the beginning of the demise of, ugh Finchel, what's not for me to like? Brittany's eyes were welling up with tears as she sang now, having a hard time tearing her eyes away from where Santana sat. The Latina had also given up on any pretenses of not looking, and was now riveted by the performance. I heard Finn mutter from the seat in front of mine about why Brittany would be singing about a rodent, and I wanted to kick his chair over twice. Once for not knowing his grade three-level biology, and another for being unable to interpret the song. I'm fairly sure that Kurt and Mercedes had figured out the latter, because they were trading whispered gossip and possible theories like lightning.

_But then one day  
I ran out of bread  
and wood to keep the fire  
and when I woke  
I found she had fled  
to the house down the river  
and I cried all night  
because I had thought she was mine._

The song finished with the final line being choked out by an emotional Brittany. Everyone could practically hear the tears in her throat. Not even giving time for the lights to come back on, she whirled around, the angst shining in her eyes impossible to hide, and bolting out the door. I suppose every Glee meeting required a storm-out to close the meeting off. Good to know that in Rachel's absence that her diva duties aren't neglected. I looked over at where Santana had frozen stock-still, mouth open and eyes a mirror image of Brittany's, swimming in unshed tears. Somewhere in the commotion of Mr. Schue trying to close the meeting with a hint of order, and everyone bursting out into whispers of why Britt was so emotional, and Finn still trying to find out whether a fox was a rodent or a type of dog, Santana's gaze slid to meet mine. I couldn't talk of course, because that would be broadcast to the entire club, but I screamed the words in my head, wondering if she could still hear them that way.

_What the hell did you do?_

**A/N the song Brittany sings in this chapter is 'The Fox' by O+S, and as soon as I came across it I made the entire storyline around it. Brittany had to sing it, it was just so sweet and innocent and a little quirky. Although it's a far cry from all her Ke$ha and Britney Spears that they had her do on the show… Questions, comments, praises, constructive criticism, and/or speculations? Feel free to leave a review!**


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